


The Crown of Legions

by SunPraiser31



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Action/Adventure, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual F/F, Eventual Romance, Family Secrets, Gen, Great Prophecies, Hero Complex, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Modern Knight Protagonist, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Antagonist, POV Multiple, POV Third Person, Political Intrigue, Post-Canon, Self-sacrificing hero
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2018-11-06 16:41:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 107,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11040132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunPraiser31/pseuds/SunPraiser31
Summary: The Grand Prophecy is upon us. Long-hidden shadows gather, while the children of Olympus prepare for war against each other. Of the six chosen by fate, a brave Knight must restore unity to the camps, burdened by a power and a past she never understood. But when a hero is her own worst enemy, one can't help but wonder if she can save anyone at all.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This series is a sequel AU to Heroes of Olympus. It does not reference or acknowledge the Trials of Apollo, the Kane Chronicles, or Magnus Chase.
> 
> PREEMPTIVE WARNING: The later chapters of this story will feature content that may be disturbing to some readers, including references to self-harm. Chapters containing such content will be noted as such at the beginning.

_“I have brought you a hero’s fate, and a hero’s fate is never happy. It is never anything but tragic.”_

* * *

 

**Five Years Ago**

* * *

 

The ocean churned and frothed around Poseidon as his head broke the surface. He could barely make out the edge of the island in front of him, veiled by a layer of mist. It had been centuries since he’d seen it last; he hadn’t had much reason to come. It was a paradise at first glance, but a prison in reality, one that had only recently been abandoned by its intended occupant. It was a place that existed everywhere and nowhere at once, a place only gods and particularly unfortunate heroes could find.

As far as secret meeting spots went, one couldn’t ask for better.

Poseidon paused at the edge of the mist to look back at the entourage he’d acquired. Schools of fish of all sizes darted around him, singing their joy at meeting their god. A few crabs shuffled in the sand by his feet. A pod of dolphins had paused to give an approximation of a bow to him. Farther out, the songs of whales and sea beasts echoed.

With a wave of his hand, Poseidon dismissed them. The schools of fish zoomed off into the depths, and the larger creatures’ songs faded. The crabs scuttled away as fast as they could. The dolphin pod gave him another bow before departing. Only once they were gone did he give a heavy sigh and turn back towards the island.

 _I sincerely hope this is a waste of time,_ Poseidon thought.

He hesitated before stepping into the mist. The shift from normal ocean to Ogygia was jarring. The water here felt wrong _._ It was cut off from the waters of Earth, so he could not hear the sea’s sweet, joyful, and sometimes wrathful music. Ogygia’s waters had their own melody, a melancholy tone that contrasted the island’s beauty. Being here didn’t make him feel powerful like on other islands. It made him feel very lonely.

When Poseidon cleared the mist, he wasn’t surprised to find storm clouds looming over the usually sunny island. The beaches and trees were a lot less inviting without blue skies to accompany them. It set the tone for the occasion quite well. His younger brother had always had a flair for the dramatic.

Zeus hadn’t mentioned the purpose of this meeting when he arranged it. When Poseidon tried to ask, Zeus had brushed him off, saying it couldn’t be discussed anywhere else. All he’d been told was to get to Ogygia quickly and tell no one else he was coming. That worried Poseidon. Zeus might get dramatic at times, but he was never one to be secretive, even during the heights of the recent Titan and Giant Wars.

Poseidon could only speculate on the issue. Everything on Olympus was business-as-usual, more or less. There was the rising tension between the two camps of their children, but Percy had reassured him that things were under control. Maybe he’d been overly optimistic. Either way, Poseidon doubted that warranted a secret meeting.

Or maybe it was related to yesterday morning. A silence of the ocean’s song. A chill crawling up his back. A sudden burst of fatigue. As though all the world had halted. The phenomenon had only lasted for a few seconds, and no one else in Poseidon’s court seemed to have noticed it.

Though gods could not feel cold unless they chose, Poseidon shivered at the memory.

It was only a short walk from the beach to Calypso’s old garden. Many of the plants the Titaness had cared for were still here, though they grew wild and unkempt. It was a testament to her skill that it still managed to look beautiful. Bulbs of moonlace lazed under the overcast sky, waiting for the moon’s light to bloom. Though Poseidon preferred coral reefs for his palace, he did admire moonlace as being “a tolerable surface plant.”

Zeus was waiting for him in the garden. The Lord of the Sky was staring at the moonlace, lost in thought. His beard and pinstripe suit were more ruffled than usual; he must not have felt the need to keep up appearances. His expression was stern, but no more than usual. That was some relief. At least he wasn’t angry about something. Probably.

Zeus’ brow furrowed as Poseidon approached. “You took your time,” he said, not looking up from the moonlace.

Poseidon grunted. “Had to find an excuse for Amphitrite. I don’t have as much experience with that as you.”

“Hmph. Funny. No one followed you here?”

“I wasn’t looking over my shoulder constantly. Should I have?”

“Perhaps. It’d be ideal if this was kept silent.”

Poseidon crossed his arms. “And what exactly is ‘this,’ brother? Why are we here?”

Zeus finally looked up at him. “Not yet. We’re waiting on one more.”

Poseidon raised an eyebrow. “You asked him to come?”

“It is his right. He likely already knows more than you anyway.”

A short laugh echoed from behind them. “When is that ever not true?”

Zeus and Poseidon turned to face the newcomer stepping on the beach. His black hair, eyes, and suit all stood out from the white sand, while his pale skin blended with it. He spread his arms in greeting. “Brothers. It’s been too long.”

Poseidon nodded to him. “Hades.”

Hades returned the nod as he joined them in the garden. He glanced up at the sky and smirked. “The locale doesn’t set the tone quite as well as the clouds, Zeus.”

Zeus grunted as if in agreement. “It’s private. That’s all we need.”

Poseidon marveled at the exchange. It wasn’t so long ago that Hades couldn’t tolerate being around the other gods, and vice versa. His intervention in the final key hours of the Titan War had done much to change that. Since being invited to sit the summer solstice meetings as well the winter ones, he was much more cordial than he’d used to be. Though it had been strange at first, Poseidon found he welcomed the change. It was good that they could acknowledge each other as brothers, even if they still didn’t see eye to eye on many things.

“So,” Hades said, “I assume that we’re here about the prophecy.”

“Prophecy?” Poseidon asked, surprised.

Zeus frowned at Hades. “Where did you hear of that? I told Apollo to keep his mouth shut.”

Hades shrugged. “Spirits talk. Some of them are quite well attenuated to that sort of thing, the souls of old Oracles particularly. The timing didn’t seem like a coincidence.”

Zeus growled to himself. “How much do they know?”

“Not enough to tell me the exact words. A lot of incoherent babbling, really. I assumed that meant it was serious. Am I right?”

Before Zeus could answer, Poseidon said, “What’s this about a prophecy? I haven’t heard anything about this.”

Zeus looked back down at the moonlace. “That’s because it was only ordained yesterday morning.”

“Yesterday morning…” Poseidon muttered, nearly shivering again at the memory. “So… that warp in the world-”

“Yes. I assume they’re directly connected. So far as we know, only the members of the Council felt it.”

“Then why are we here, and not Olympus?” Poseidon said. “Shouldn’t the Council be part of this?”

“Because at the moment, the others seem convinced it is an aftereffect of the Titan War, from when Father was destroyed. Apollo was the only one there to hear the prophecy. The only ones who know about it are us, Apollo, and some random ghosts, apparently.” Zeus looked up at Hades. “You’ll take care of that?”

Hades crossed his arms and nodded. “Yes, not that anyone other than me listens to them. I’ll keep the Oracle spirits quiet.”

Poseidon frowned. “That still doesn’t answer _why_ we’re keeping this a secret, brother.”

Zeus gave him a hard look. “Do you recall the last time the ordaining of a prophecy affected the world so strongly?”

Poseidon blinked. “...Never. Not even the Great Prophecies.”

“Not even the Great Prophecies,” Zeus muttered. “This one… this one is something else.”

“And it says…?”

Zeus didn’t answer right away. He started walking away from the garden and towards the shore, staring at the shroud of mist on the horizon. Poseidon and Hades followed him, giving each other puzzled looks. Zeus liked to be dramatic, but his style of drama was more of the grand and threatening kind. This brooding demeanor didn’t suit him.

They stopped at the edge of the water. Zeus huffed, his face impassive. “Do you remember the day we took Olympus, brothers?”

“Of course.”

“Hard to forget.”

“Do you remember what I told Father that day?”

 _“It is our time now. Yours is at an end,”_ Poseidon quoted. He recalled that scene vividly; he’d helped hold Father down so Zeus could use his own scythe against him.

“And do you remember what he told me, before the end?”

From the other side of Zeus, Hades said, _“Time has an end for all. One day, it will have yours.”_ Yet another of very few memories that could give Poseidon chills.

Zeus nodded, his gaze far-off. “Yes… An end for all. Such a far off thing. Such threats never seem real until they happen. We, blessed with immortality, are still made fools by time’s march eventually. We’re remarkably like mortals, in that sense…”

Poseidon frowned at Zeus. He’d never seemed concerned about prophecies before, not even when it seemed possible they might lose. What words could possibly have this effect on him?

Zeus seemed to come back to himself, though he kept his eyes on the horizon. “You will both swear oaths on the River Styx that you will not divulge what you are about to hear to anyone else.”

“But brother,” Poseidon said, “if it is so serious, then why-”

“Your oath, Poseidon. You will understand.”

Both Poseidon and Hades hesitated. Then in unison, they said, “I swear it on the River Styx.” A distant rumble of thunder confirmed their words.

Zeus took a deep breath. For a short moment, there was only the rustling of the breeze and the lapping of the waves.

Then, he recited the prophecy.

A stunned god was a rare sight. On Ogygia’s beach, there were now two of them.

The words echoed in Poseidon’s mind. He went over each several times. Surely he must have misheard. Zeus must have misquoted. It was a false hope he couldn’t cling to for long.

The prospect it presented did not frighten him. Kronos, Gaea, Typhon, Tartarus, _those_ things frightened him. This prophecy terrified him.

 _Time’s end… That can’t be,_ he tried to tell himself. _How could… No, there’s nothing, that’s not possible…_

Hades recovered before Poseidon did, though he still looked shaken. Poseidon hadn’t thought it possible for him to look any paler. “What will we do?” he asked quietly.

Poseidon didn’t have even a fraction of an answer. Prophecies like that were the one of the only things that could make a god feel truly helpless. All their meddling in the past hadn’t been able to change them. Gods, perhaps more than even mortals, were often bound by the whims of fate. Their half-blood children seemed to be the only exception.

“Nothing,” Zeus replied.

“...Nothing?”

“We will carry on as if nothing were amiss.”

“But… How will that-”

“Our actions in the past have only served to expedite these things. It’s time for a new approach. We will continue with our affairs as normal, and this prophecy will not be known to any save for us and Apollo. Only when we are certain that the prophecy is upon us will we take action.”

That puzzled Poseidon. Zeus’ plan was to _ignore it?_ He presented the idea firmly, as though it were a natural solution to an everyday problem. But Poseidon knew him well enough to see the tightness around his eyes, the tense set of his jaw. He was trying to hide his uncertainty.

It failed to convince Poseidon. “By that time, wouldn’t it be too late to take action?”

Hades scoffed. “You say that like it will matter. Prophecy is prophecy. When it _does_ happen, there won’t be anything we can do about it regardless. This way… we might delay it, at least.”

Zeus nodded. “The prophecy regarding Poseidon’s child took only decades to happen with our intervention. The one after that only took a year when we all went completely silent. If we keep it to ourselves and do not stray from normal behavior… Perhaps we might enjoy another few centuries before we must confront it.”

Hades nodded his agreement, but Poseidon scowled. “A rather childish approach, no? Hiding from the inevitable?”

Zeus fixed a stern glare on him. “You have a better idea?”

Poseidon hesitated. A prediction like that was not something they could easily solve with any plan they came up with, but even trying and failing had to be better than doing _nothing._ He had to try to make his brothers see sense. He went through the prophecy again, looking for something that may inspire hope.

“The half-bloods it mentions,” he said, “if we could find them-”

Hades laughed. “Find them… how, exactly? Should we pick six of them at random and hope we get lucky? Or maybe gather up _all_ of them just to be sure? For that matter, how do we know they’re alive yet? It could be centuries before this happens.”

Zeus grunted. “Even if we could know the six to whom it refers, what then? It’s hard to prepare for something you don’t understand yourself. Unless either of you knows what this… _‘false star’_ is?” They both shook their heads, and Zeus continued, “No. They will emerge when the time is right. We three will be watchful for them, as well as the other signs. But we will _not_ spread word of this beyond us and Apollo. I don’t want doomsayers and panic spreading through Olympus.”

Poseidon clenched his hands. How was he supposed to keep something like from his wife, his subjects, his children? How could they be so willing to sweep an issue like this under the rug and pretend it didn’t exist?

 _They’re scared,_ he thought. _They want to deny it until they’re forced to acknowledge it. Like mortals indeed, Zeus… But do I not wish I could do the same?_ Zeus in particular had plenty of reason to be nervous, as one of the lines could be directly referencing him.

Poseidon kept his voice even. “Say you’re right. Say we buy ourselves centuries more. And when centuries go by without a Great Prophecy? Never for more than five decades have we been without one. How will we answer the questions that arise?”

“Simple. We’ll tell them that we finally won. It’s an easy enough lie. And there is some truth to it. Father and the Earth Mother are gone.”

“And when the time finally comes? When they learn of our deception, how we stood by and did nothing? Our children, our brothers and sisters, the rest of Olympus? How will we answer to them?”

Zeus turned away again, a strange weariness in his eyes. “Let us hope we last long enough to bear the full brunt of their scorn.”

Poseidon tried to find another argument, but had none. He saw the point they were making, horrible as it was, but he wanted another way out. There had to be another way out. But there was none that he could see. He somehow doubted he could come up with one even with centuries to think.

Zeus sighed and brushed his suit. “Enough. You have both given your oaths. We will proceed as usual. Until the signs are clear, we will _not_ discuss this again. There will be hell to pay otherwise.”

With that, Zeus’ body flashed brightly, and he was gone. The clouds above the island slowly began to break up, revealing the sunny blue sky behind them.

Hades snorted. “Hell to pay,” he chuckled. “So about the usual then.”

Poseidon shook his head. “This isn’t right. There has to be something…”

“I’ve seen plenty of souls lost in your storms, brother. This is like that.You don’t fight it. You get out of the way. If you can’t, you try to weather it. If you can’t weather it, you make it memorable.”

Poseidon scowled at him. “And how do _you_ intend to do that?”

Hades gave a small smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “I think I’ll finally give one of those parties on the Isles of the Blest a look. Perhaps I’ll make more time for Persephone. And maybe I’ll take Alecto up on her new Interactive Tour of Punishment. I could use a good laugh.” He straightened up his own suit and stepped closer to the water. “Try to have a few yourself, or you might just beat our dear brother for ‘Grumpiest God.’”

Hades’ body burst into flame. When it cleared, he was gone as well, leaving Poseidon alone on Ogygia.

He stood on the beach for a long time, staring at the surf. By the time he moved again, the sun was setting, hidden by the veil of mist on the horizon. The white sand of the beach seemed to glow under the silver light of the moon. Back in the garden, he would surely find the moonlace in bloom, actually glowing. It was a very rare sight, found only on Ogygia and the flowerbox of one family’s home in New York City.

Poseidon didn’t even turn to see it. Slowly, he walked into the surf, hoping the water would wash away his cares. He could see what Zeus had been saying about time making fools of them. Whether it happened in months, years, or even centuries, it would happen eventually, and they would be nearly powerless to stop it. For an immortal, that truth was difficult to accept. Until that time came, it was a truth he would have to keep to himself.

As Poseidon crossed through the mist and back into proper ocean, the familiar songs of the sea washed over him. The locals rejoiced at his coming. Within seconds, he’d attracted a few schools of tropical fish, singing their greetings. Crustaceans emerged from their shells to scuttle over to his feet. Even the coral seemed to grow more vibrant in his presence.

Though he’d left the phantom island behind, he’d never felt more alone. Those who shared this burden with him were thousands of miles away, planning to bask in willful ignorance. But what else could they do, any of them? Gods they may be, but even they were not all knowing. None of them could know what the words truly meant. Not Zeus, the much vaunted King of Olympus. Not Poseidon, lord of all the seas. Not Apollo, not Hades, and not the long-past ghosts of forgotten Oracles. If any knew, it was the Fates, and they’d never-

Poseidon halted suddenly. _Wait._

The Oracle spirits that Hades had mentioned. They didn’t know the exact words, but they knew _something_ was amiss. Poseidon had heard of the things they’d used to say during the days of Percy’s Great Prophecy. Much of it seemed rambling and incomprehensible, but there were truths buried in it, things that no one else knew. He’d seen the script the current Oracle had drawn on a beach, saying, _“Percy Jackson, you are not the hero.”_ A hint at the prophecy’s true meaning that she had no way of knowing.

It was a slim chance, but that was all Poseidon needed. He gathered his power, envisioning himself in Los Angeles. He had to make Hades see. He had to convince him that any scrap was worth getting, no matter how small. The more they knew, the better they could recognize it when the time came.

Even if it only helped them see the end coming, that was better than not seeing it at all.


	2. The Tides of Change

**ACT ONE: CONVERGENCE**

* * *

 

_“Half-bloods all, six to decide the world’s fate. Their suffering may save us. Their hate will destroy us.”_

* * *

 

The late-spring morning was dark and cool when Percy Jackson felt the world begin to change.

He sat cross-legged on the beach of Camp Half-Blood, waist deep in the surf. The gently rolling waves shone with the silver glow of the crescent moon. The faintest hints of light were appearing on the eastern edge of the starlit sky. The forest behind him, usually alive with creatures both mundane and mythical, was quiet. It was the most peaceful time of day, when all lay still in anticipation of the coming dawn.

Percy could find little peace in it. He frowned at the water, studying its ebbs and flows closely. He thought he saw something there, but couldn’t quite make out what. He hoped it was nothing. The alternative unnerved him.

A light breeze ruffled his messy black hair. His faded camp shirt and jeans remained dry despite the rising tide. Dark circles lay under his sea-green eyes. With his right hand, he fidgeted with a ballpoint pen. He watched the water unblinking for several minutes, searching for a sign he didn’t want to find.

_Okay,_ _maybe it’s nothing,_ he tried to tell himself after a time. He wasn’t convinced. His most recent dream lingered in his thoughts, a dark cloud over his already-grim mental state of the last few weeks. It had been years since he’d last received a dream message directly from his father. Now that he had, he wondered why he’d wished they talked more. It was never about anything good, and this time was clearly no exception.

_“War is coming, Percy…”_

Percy closed his eyes and tried to relax. He took deep breaths and immersed himself in the sea’s sweet music. The lapping of waves, the flow of currents, and the voices of creatures farther out combined into a beautiful harmony that he understood intimately. Each told their own story, small pieces of a narrative that spanned oceans. It often calmed him when he was troubled, as was natural for a son of Poseidon.

Today it had the opposite effect. The ocean’s song was tense, as though in anticipation of a coming storm. It sent chills through him as he listened. His effort to relax failed, drowned by creeping dread. The timing couldn’t be a coincidence.

_“Half-bloods must again take up arms…”_

At the age of thirty-three, Percy was the veteran of dozens of quests, several prophecies, and more fights than he could count. He’d expected that nothing would be able to faze him at this point. Yet, the sea’s distress sparked a deep fear in him that he hadn’t felt in over a decade. He could clearly recall the last time it had felt like this. A bloody war, a near-disaster for civilization. His friends dead. His home in danger.

This time, apparently, it was out of his hands to do anything about it.

“Percy?” the soft voice nearly made him jump. He relaxed quickly at its familiar sound. He turned to find Annabeth approaching, dressed in a t-shirt and shorts. Her blonde hair was in tangles, and her eyes drooped. She yawned as she waded out into the surf.

“Morning, Wise Girl,” Percy said. “Couldn’t sleep without me?”

She glared at him and stifled another yawn. “It was lovely, actually. My pillow stayed dry for once.”

Percy huffed with indignation. “Hey, you claim all the blankets, I get the pillows. Fair, right?”

“Sure,” Annabeth said as she sat cross-legged next to him. “Still, doesn’t mean you have to mark them as yours. I figured after twenty years you’d stop drooling so much.”

“I figured you’d stop being so difficult.”

They glared at each other for a moment before chuckling and smiling. Annabeth gave Percy a quick peck on the lips. Much of his anxiety faded as they locked hands. His heart quickened at the way her hair and eyes caught the moon’s glow, giving them an almost otherworldly aura. After so many years, she still had that effect on him.

Annabeth shook her head and yawned again. “You haven’t been out here for a while.”

It was Percy’s habit to sit in the surf and listen to the ocean’s songs when something was troubling him. The last time he’d done it so early had been in the days leading up to his proposal to Annabeth several years prior. The answer had been a forgone conclusion, but he’d stressed for over a week regarding the delivery. In the end, he’d gone with something simple: a walk on the beach at dawn. He hadn’t done a good job of keeping that a secret. He’d been mortified to find nearly all of their friends lurking in the forest nearby, who’d promptly mobbed the two of them and thrown them into the Sound. He’d laughed afterwards at how fitting it was; they’d started dating in a very similar fashion.

His troubles this time could not have such a happy outcome. He looked out over the water, his smile fading. “I had a dream last night.”

Annabeth’s hand tightened on his. “One of our nightmares?” she asked softly.

Percy shivered. “No, no… But… I almost wish it’d been that instead.”

Annabeth was silent for a moment. Their shared nightmares of their time in Tartarus were the worst things they’d endured since they’d been campers. For him to wish one upon himself spoke to how much his dream distressed him. Annabeth knew Percy wouldn’t exaggerate about that.

“A vision?” she asked.

Percy nodded. “Directly from Dad.”

“Bad news?”

He snorted. “Well, he wasn’t calling to remind me about Mother’s Day. Yeah, bad news.”

“So what’d he say?”

Percy sighed and took Annabeth’s hand. “It was… confusing. He was talking fast the whole time, seemed like he was in a hurry. He kept saying how important it was, but he was being really cryptic and wouldn’t answer any of my questions… Not that I expected anything different.”

Annabeth chuckled. “Sounds like our parents. What’d he say that you could understand?”

Percy paused. “He said… something big is coming. Something really bad, but he doesn’t know exactly what or when. He kept saying that he couldn’t tell me everything, but he kept telling me to ‘be on the lookout.’”

“...did he say what for?”

“That’s the weird thing. He didn’t tell me to watch out for Kronos, Gaea, Tartarus or anything like that. He kept saying to watch for half-bloods.”

Annabeth raised an eyebrow. “Half-bloods?”

“Yeah. I don’t know if they’re supposed to cause a big mess or fix it, he just said to keep an eye open for them.”

She frowned and scoffed. “I hope he gave you more to go on than that.”

“That’s the weird thing. He did, but he was really cryptic about _that_ too.”

“How so?”

“His exact words were, _‘There will be six, Percy, all of them half-blood. Knight, Thief, Mage, Warlord, Hunter, Ruler. These six will be the key to everything. That is all I can tell you, but you must find them if you can. Prepare them!’_ ”

There was a long pause as Annabeth drank in the implications of that. “Mmm,” she frowned, her fatigue seemingly gone now. “That’s… puzzling. Was there anything else?”

Percy took a deep breath. “Yeah. He said… He said that war is coming, and that half-bloods will again have to take up arms. He told me to be ready, to get everyone else ready too. After that, he left, and I woke up.”

Again Annabeth was silent. She pursed her lips, as she always did when she was thinking hard. For once, he was genuinely hoping that he and Annabeth didn’t reach the same conclusion. If she thought it meant something different, then he could discount his thoughts as stupid and unlikely. He didn’t have high hopes. It wasn’t hard to see what the last bit of Poseidon’s words could mean.

“...You think he means between the camps,” Annabeth said.

“...Well, it makes sense. The timing seems right.”

Annabeth nodded grimly. “Mmm. I hate to agree, but…”

It didn’t seem like coincidence to either of them. Tensions between Camps Half-Blood and Jupiter had been rising steadily for years, despite all attempts to ease them. It was as they and the rest of the Seven had feared: victory over Gaea and their treaty of cooperation had overcome old grudges, but hadn’t been enough to stop new ones from forming. Now, after sixteen years of perceived insults and failed negotiations, they stood on the brink of war yet again. Both camps were arming and training more fervently. Maps of the west coast were abound in the Athena cabin. The Hermes kids had started a betting pool on what and who would spark the powder keg.

It seemed that all the Seven could do was stall the inevitable. The camps had strict rules regarding the authority of alumni. They could give advice, but when it came to decisions for the whole camp, that was left to the Head Counselors or the Senate. Even Chiron could only do so much, and Mr. D didn’t care to intervene at all. Once a declaration of war was given by either camp, there would be no stopping it.

And now, Percy was receiving word from a god about a coming war involving half-bloods. That seemed like the final nail in the coffin for Percy’s faint hopes. It felt like he’d done all he could, short of taking charge of the camp and declaring that war wasn’t allowed. But he knew all that would do was lose the respect the campers had for him. In fact, it might just spur them into an even more warlike frenzy. Teenagers were irrational, half-blood teenagers even more so. The more you tried to reign them in, the harder they fought to get free. He’d have better luck winning a dog show with Mrs. O’ Leary.

But yet… Even with war looming over their heads, it still felt like he was missing the point. He couldn’t point to any one reason why. Something in Poseidon’s words, something in the water… Whatever it was, it gave him a sense of dread distinct from their younger relatives’ quarrels.

“It feels wrong, Annabeth,” he breathed, listening to the ocean’s melody. “The sea is wrong. The _world_ is wrong. I… There’s something we’re not seeing, something we’re not being told… Rachel hasn’t given any prophecies lately, has she?”

Annabeth thought for a moment. “...No,” she said slowly, “I don’t think so. A few quest prophecies, but nothing… Great, I guess. She’d have told us otherwise.”

Percy frowned. “Huh. That’s…”

“What?”

He shook his head. “...Nothing. Forget it.”

Annabeth slid closer to him. “Percy, come on. Talk to me.”

Percy exhaled for a long few seconds. “I… I have a really bad feeling about all this, Annabeth. And… I don’t think _we_ can do anything about it. It’s all out of our hands now, you know? We’re old news. We’re… useless.”

Annabeth pulled him into a tight hug. He responded with a tighter one. He held her close, taking what comfort he could in her embrace. It would’ve put him at peace once. There’d been a time where he thought he’d won. He thought he’d beaten all the world could throw at him, despite the odds, and gotten his happy ending. But the happy ending had the day after it, and the day after that. The world marched on regardless. _Fate_ marched on. He almost yearned for those days back. At least then he’d been able to do something more than sit around negotiating. A sword in his hand with a monster to slay was much simpler.

“There is _something_ we can do,” Annabeth said, pulling away from him. “Your dad said six half-bloods are the key to it all, right? He also told you to find and prepare them. Even if we’re not directly involved, we can still make a difference.”

Percy nodded slowly. Yes, that was something he could do. Perhaps more detached than he would like, but it was something. Of course, that did introduce another headache. “Alright… so we just have to find six random kids with nothing but one word descriptors to go by. Should be a cakewalk, right?”

Annabeth frowned, deep in thought. “Hmm… _Knight, Thief… Mage… Warlord, Hunter, Ruler…_ ” Her lips tightened. “Well… One word descriptors aside… I think at least one of them is obvious.”

Percy knew which one she meant, and could see how much it upset her. It worried him as well. Being part of a chosen few was hell, sometimes literally. As if Kat didn’t already suffer enough… He could only hope for her sake that it meant somebody else.

He cleared his throat. “Maybe. Any clue on the rest?”

“...No. The rest aren’t so obvious. We’ll have to keep an eye out. In the meantime… We have to do what we can to buy more time. Once the summer session starts and everyone gets here… Things could get out of hand really fast.”

Percy grunted, not wanting to think about that quite yet. “Yeah… Maybe it’d be easier if we got some straight answers for once. _Look for a half-blood named Mark. He lives down the road._ Is that so hard?”

Annabeth smirked. “Yes, that would be a nice change of pace. But then Rachel would be out of a job, and there’d be nothing to occupy her beyond scaring younger campers.”

“Oh, true… Rachel with unlimited free time, talk about a real catastrophe…”

The two of them laughed, holding each other and kissing under the moon. They tried to enjoy each other’s company as much as they could, but they were both distracted. Thoughts of what might lie ahead plagued them. Each tried to find a way to avoid it. Each tried to make sense of Poseidon’s words. Their laughter died down in short order, and again they silently listened to the tense pitch of the ocean’s song.

The eastern sky continued to lighten, and the forest was starting to wake. After a time, Annabeth yawned and stood. Her clothes were still dry, courtesy of Percy. She extended a hand to him. “Come on. Let’s try to get just a little more sleep. We’ve got a long day of calls and meetings.”

Percy took her hand and pulled himself up, groaning. “Fun.”

“Yeah, fun,” she agreed. “We should write down the exact words your dad told you when we get back. We’ll need to remember them.”

“Yeah, for sure.”

They walked up the beach hand-in-hand, heading back toward the camp proper. Percy cast one more look out at the ocean. Even from here, he could tell it was off. The waves were too choppy. The currents turned too sharply. It was waiting with bated breath for a storm that would not come by sea. The way the foam clung to the sands seemed like a prayer, desperately hoping it would be proven wrong.

“You and me both,” Percy whispered. He turned away, pondering how one could stop a storm before it grew too large. In his experience, you didn’t. It didn’t matter what you did. Even a son of Poseidon was nothing before a hurricane.

All one could do was get out of the way.


	3. To See the World Clearly

_ “Ideals form a stalwart Knight’s blade. Others take light from her flame, while all she can do is burn. Burn, burn, burn...” _

* * *

 

Richard was about to die, and nobody believed him.

He sprinted down a Brooklyn sidewalk, trying to escape. The howling was still getting closer behind him. Bewildered onlookers backed away to let him through. Why did they just stand aside, not do anything to help? Could they not see how terrified he was?

 _“Help!”_ he screamed at them with what breath he had left. “Someone, help!”

Many confused faces turned to pity, or even laughter. Still no one stepped in. If anything, they only backed further away.

They were right to do so. They couldn’t see the danger he thought he was in. Why couldn’t he be normal? Why, for the love of God, why had he been cursed like this?

Richard nearly tripped as he turned a sharp corner and kept running. His out-of-shape, thirty-year-old body strained to keep up the effort. His blue work polo was drenched in sweat, as was his hair. His legs were burning, and his heart felt like it might pound out of his chest. That was the price he paid for skipping the gym every morning. Still he kept running, fueled by adrenaline and the primal need to survive.

He’d tried going in several buildings, but all of them were locked at this early hour. He’d tried flagging down a car to save him, but the drivers treated him the same as the pedestrians. The most populous city in America, and Richard had never felt more alone or helpless, which was saying a lot.

“Someone…” he panted, his lungs straining to support him. “Please…” But people only stared at him and shook their heads. A man in front of Richard pointed behind him, and the man’s companions burst into laughter.

Just then, another blood-chilling howl came from directly behind Richard.

He yelped and tried to redouble his speed, but his legs were barely responding to him anymore. Desperate, he turned into an alley on the left, hoping to lose his pursuer. He grabbed a pair of trash cans and threw them behind him to slow them down. But after taking another left-hand turn, his heart dropped. His stride slowed, and he stumbled into a high chain link fence. He couldn’t muster the strength to try climbing it. He’d trapped himself.

“No…” he whimpered, falling to his knees. Tears fell down his face as he gasped for breath. “Please… No…”

A low growl echoed through the alley. Richard started and spun around, pressing his back against the fence. His hammering heart caught in his throat as a huge shadow moved along the far wall, its source out of sight. It inched closer, and the growling became louder.

Richard curled into a trembling ball, but kept his eyes on the shadow. He wanted to look away, but he had to face it. That’s what Doctor Hanson had told him. If he faced it, then it would all go away.

“It’s just a dog,” he whispered to himself. “It’s just a dog, it’s just a dog…”

The shadow’s source stepped into view, and Richard’s mantra faded into a soft squeak.

The thing that approached him was unmistakably a dog, a black mastiff to be exact. What terrified him was the fact that it was the size of an SUV and had glowing red eyes. It stalked towards him slowly, baring gleaming fangs like steak knives. In the narrow alley, its growling sounded like the roar of an engine. The stench of decay washed over him. It could have crawled directly out of his nightmares.

Richard’s mental tricks for dealing with his hallucinations weren’t working. Doctor Hanson’s instructions had been very simple. Find something normal to distract himself with. Just ignore it, remember that it wasn’t real. After years of medications failing to help, he had a lot of practice. One-eyed man on the bus? Ignore it. Snake people as customers? Ignore it. A tank-sized demon dog lounging outside the store he worked at? Ignore it. For the most part, it worked. The monstrosities he saw usually ignored him in turn.

What he didn’t have much practice with was when he _couldn’t_ ignore it. The beast had obstructed so much of the sidewalk that it was hard to avoid looking at it. As soon as he’d met its horrible eyes, it had given a blood-freezing howl and started chasing him. His first instinct had been to _run,_ not _confront it_ like Doctor Hanson said he should. With his back against a wall, he now had no choice.

“It’s just a dog…” he choked out. Though he couldn’t hear himself over its growl, he continued trying to convince himself. “Just a dog, just a dog, just a dog…”

For a brief moment, the monster’s form blurred, as though shrouded in a layer of fog. Through it, Richard could make out the obscured form of a small mastiff, almost a puppy. His fleeting hope was broken when the fog cleared, and it returned to its former horrible shape. It gave a deafening bark, and he screamed.

He curled up as tightly as he could, closing his eyes and burying his face in his knees. _It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real…_ But he could still hear its growling, smell its stench, feel every thud through the pavement as it approached. Logic told him he would be fine, but every instinct in his body screamed that he was in mortal danger. It was the worst curse one could suffer, not being able to trust one’s senses.

_Oh God, make it stop, please make it stop, please-_

“Hey!”

A high voice echoed through the alley above the monster’s growls. It was followed by a dull thud and the clacking of a rock against pavement. The monster roared, and there was a rapid thudding of its paws as it moved. It took every fiber of willpower Richard had to lift his head and squint to see what was happening.

The demon-dog had turned around mere feet away from him, its tail looming above his head. It resumed its growl as it stalked towards something on the other end of the alley. Richard released the breath he’d been holding. Had someone come to save him? The beast was too big; he couldn’t see around it.

He quickly looked around, trying to find some way to escape while it was distracted. The fence was too high to climb without risking serious injury, but there were no other ways out beyond going past the monster. He started to uncurl slowly, hoping it wouldn’t hear him and remember he was there. Better to risk serious injury than certain death when it-

 _No,_ he berated himself, _it’s not real you idiot! It can’t actually-_

A burst of air pushed him to the ground as the monster leaped forward, its tail nearly taking off his head. The ground shook as it landed. He tried to find his feet again, disoriented. His hallucinations weren’t supposed to have a physical effect like that. Was his condition getting worse? Had stopping the meds actually had a real impact on it?

A piercing yelp forced Richard’s hands to his ears. He struggled to one knee and looked up at the commotion. What he saw only confused him more.

The monster-dog had turned back around where it landed at the far end of the alley. It walked forward with a limp; a large cut had been opened on its right leg. Smoke rose from the wound, and golden blood dripped down its fur. Its growl was a lower pitch now, its teeth bared and its red eyes burning with anger. However, its attention was still not on him.

Standing between the monster and Richard was a blonde girl in what looked to be her late teens. Her hair was tied in a ponytail, and she was clad in a red t-shirt and gym shorts with black sneakers. In her right hand, she held a knife with a gleaming blade of what looked like solid gold. The monster’s blood dripped from the knife, nearly the same color as the blade. She stood in a readied stance, feet apart and knife raised near her chest.

“Stay behind me!” the girl ordered, not looking away from the approaching monster. Richard nodded, both confused and terrified.  To his alarm, the girl started _towards_ the monster, staying in her readied stance. It snarled at her, but she didn’t so much as flinch even as Richard cowered. There was no way she saw what he did, of course. She’d see the mastiff puppy everyone else did. But then why was her gaze so high up? Was Richard hallucinating her too? This was getting to be too much. He definitely needed his meds back.

Without warning, the girl darted forward, charging the monster. It roared and raised its good foot, its talons flashing in the dim light. It swiped at the girl, who was far too close to move away in time.

 _“No!”_ Richard cried, but he needn’t have bothered. The girl was already in motion, ducking under the dog’s massive paw. It missed her by an inch. It barked in frustration and swiped again, and again it missed. The monster stomped, swiped, and bit at the girl savagely, but none of it touched her. She danced between its attacks so quickly that it made the monster seem lumbering and slow by comparison. She slashed with her knife as she dodged, opening several small cuts on its leg and face. Richard was spellbound as he watched. She had to be a hallucination. No human could move like that.

He caught a glimpse of her expression as she spun to avoid another swipe. Fierce but calm, determined yet cautious. Not a single trace of fear to be seen. Could she really be a product of his terrified brain?

The monster bellowed and threw all of its weight behind another swipe. The girl twisted to avoid it. One of its talons tore a gash through the back of her shirt. Its injured leg gave out under the weight, and it toppled to the ground. She seized the opening and rushed forward as it started to rise. Giving a short cry, she drove her knife through its left eye.

Richard braced for another deafening roar, but all that came was an almost pitiful whimper. Its whole body spasmed, smoke pouring from around the dagger in its eye. It went slack a moment later. The girl pulled her knife out and stepped back, still holding it at the ready. He watched dumbfounded as the monster began to literally crumble into dust. Within seconds, there was no sign of it aside from a large pile of fine yellow powder. Some of it stirred and drifted away on the morning breeze.

He blinked at the dust, slack-jawed. The girl huffed and relaxed her stance. She shook the blood off her golden knife, then tucked it into the waistband of her shorts. She considered the dust pile for a moment more before turning and approaching him.

“Are you okay?” she asked. Her voice was a high alto and seemed to hold genuine concern for him. He relaxed somewhat. Hallucination or not, at least she was friendly.

“Y-yeah,” he managed, rubbing his head. “I’m fine.”

“You’re sure? Here, can you stand?” She stopped next to him and offered him a hand. He hesitated before reaching for it. He was somewhat surprised when he found warm, real skin. Her hand was rough and calloused, and her grip was firm. It was mostly her effort that pulled him to his feet. He had to grab the fence to keep from toppling over.

The strange girl watched Richard carefully. As he’d thought, she couldn’t be older than sixteen or seventeen. She was pretty in a plain sort of way, with a round face, a splotchy birthmark on her chin and a short scar on her left cheek. Numerous other scars adorned her forearms. She cut a slim but well-toned figure, like an endurance runner. Her clothes were more ragged than he’d noticed at first. Her shirt and shorts were faded and tattered in places, and her sneakers were held together with duct tape. She brushed a hand past the lump in her waistband where her knife was hidden, as though checking she hadn’t lost it yet.

Her most striking feature was her eyes. They were a bright shade of amber, like pools of dull, molten gold. Her gaze had an intensity to it that unsettled him. Though he didn’t feel threatened by her, something about her made him want to keep his distance. He tried to shrug that feeling off; she’d just saved him, after all. Of course, that opened up a different can of worms.

She shifted and scratched at a scab on the back of her hand. “So, um… I’m Lucy.” It was a simple greeting, but it sounded uncertain, much less firm than she’d been a mere minute before.

“Um, alright, Lucy… I’m Richard.”

She smiled, but didn’t meet his eyes. “I’m glad you’re okay, uh, Richard. Those things are vicious.”

That right there was the heart of the problem. She obviously hadn’t seen just a puppy, and he was mostly certain she wasn’t fake. The only other alternative was… No, that couldn’t be...

“I don’t…” he said, trying to find his voice again. “I don’t understand… could… could you see that thing?”

Lucy nodded slowly, seeming troubled. “I’m surprised that _you_ could. Most people don’t, for some reason. I’ve never met another person who could... Is that why it attacked you?”

Each of her words struck him like hammer blows. It was all he could do not to fall to his knees as his worldview shattered beneath them. “So…” he whispered, praying he was wrong. “The things I see… they’re _real?”_

Lucy looked uncomfortable with that question. “I’m… sorry, Richard, but… yeah. It looks like it.”

Now he actually did fall to his knees. Lucy gasped and crouched beside him, holding him from falling over. Richard stared hard at the ground, his hands shaking as fear came back to him. All his life he’d been told he was crazy. “It’s all in your head,” they told him. “Don’t make a fuss.” He’d told himself that too. He’d taken the scorn, subjected himself to procedures and medication, kept silent about every horror he saw. But all of that had been a lie. Everything he saw was real. This strange girl, her golden knife, and the monster she’d slain were proof of that.

“Do you need to sit down somewhere?” Lucy asked. He looked at her through blurred eyes, overcome with a thousand different emotions. Strangely, the overwhelming one was gratitude. The demon-dog had been real. It had almost killed him, and Lucy had saved him from it. She hadn’t hesitated to put herself between him and it. Whether that was brave or stupid, Richard couldn’t decide.

“Thank you,” he muttered after a minute, his voice shaking. “Thank you. Thank you.”

He thought she might have been smiling at him. “It’s the least I could do.”

Now questions were starting to buzz around his mind. Why could he and Lucy see them while others couldn’t? Where had she learned how to fight them? Who exactly _was_ she? He couldn’t decide what to ask first. He couldn’t find the words to ask.

“I’m okay,” he said, trying to convince himself more than her. “I’m okay.” Slowly, he rose back to his feet.

“I’m glad,” Lucy said, standing with him. “So… is this the first time a monster has attacked you?”

He gave a small nod. “Yeah. I… I just ignore them, and they ignore me… But I looked right at that dog, and he chased me…”

Lucy frowned like that didn’t sound right to her. “Hmm… Well, I guess… It’d be best if you keep ignoring them. If they don’t think you can see them, maybe they won’t care about you.”

Wait, what? She just wanted him to _keep ignoring them?_ There was no way he could do that, not now that he knew they were real. Terrified as he was, part of him wanted to _do something_ about them, to be able to fight them like Lucy did. He gathered what determination he could find and prepared to argue that point with her. “But… I… ”

Lucy tensed up suddenly, her eyes going wide. “Oh crap,” she muttered.

Richard looked over his shoulder, but there was nothing. Could she see even more than he did? “What?”

“I’m gonna be late again,” she said with a panicked edge. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“I- Well, yeah, but-”

“Okay! Sorry, I have to go, right now!” With that, she spun around and started running towards the alley exit. “Stay safe, and keep away from monsters!” she called. Before he could so much as protest, she turned the corner and was out of sight.

Richard stared after her with indignation. She’d fought a tank-sized demon hound without flinching, but the thought of _being_ _late_ scared her? Perhaps it was an excuse to get out of answering questions; she hadn’t seemed comfortable with talking to him. It didn’t matter now; she was long gone, and he had no idea how to find her. He’d have to deal with it all on his own. At least that part of his life hadn’t changed.

It took him awhile before he found the will to walk, by which time the sky was starting to lighten. He paused by the pile of dust the monster had left behind to prod it with his toe. It gave him some small comfort; it meant they could be killed. Not by him, of course. Lucy was probably right. The best thing he could do was continue trying to ignore them. If they tried attacking him again, at least he’d know what he was dealing with. For all the good that would do him.

 _Okay… Just go back to work, Richard,_ he told himself. _Tell them you missed the bus. Just another normal workday. Just keep ignoring it for now. When you get home, see what you can find online. And… you’ll have to schedule a looooong meeting with Doctor Hanson._

When Richard left the alley and stumbled back into the street, it was like stepping into a new world. That scared him more than he could say. He had a new appreciation for how blissful ignorance truly was. For while he saw this world clearly, it meant he couldn’t hide behind a lie anymore, oppressing as that lie had been. It cast everything he’d thought he’d known in a completely different light.

This was a world where nightmares were real.


	4. A Helping Hand

_ “The seas rise in rebellion. Hateful is their chorus. Their fury opens the carnage.” _

* * *

 

Lucy liked to look at her life in terms of numbers. Unfortunately, the numbers weren’t usually what she would call good.

 _Seven times this month already,_ she thought to herself as she ran through Brooklyn. _Thirty-six total. Damn it, I’m not gonna make it..._

It was six forty-four. Less than sixteen minutes to go, give or take a minute. From past experience, she estimated she’d make it in eighteen at her current pace. Though she was already running faster than was comfortable, she sped up. If she had to choose between being late again and another round with the hellhound, she’d choose the hound without hesitation. Punishment for missing room checks was never pleasant.

Of course, neither was fighting monsters. The unpleasant was nothing new.

Though Lucy was in great shape for a seventeen-year-old, she was panting from the effort after several minutes. The late-May morning was already turning humid. Sweat gathered on her brow and seeped into her ragged shirt. Her legs and heart burned, still smarting from the fight. Still she continued to run, brushing her hand on her right hip every few steps. The familiar feel of her knife’s handle gave her determination, but it also reminded her of the nightmare she’d just slain.

 _Two monsters this month,_ she mused between mental curses. _Six this year so far. Seventeen total._ They’d been getting more frequent since she’d started keeping track five years ago. She tried not to think about it much more at the moment. She had enough anxiety to deal with already.

Despite her pace, she wasn’t making as good of time as she’d hoped. She had to weave her way through growing crowds of distracted people. Several intersections forced her to stop and wait. Though those moments gave her rest, she couldn’t enjoy them while precious seconds ticked away. It was only a block away from the school that she got her second wind.

Six fifty-eight. About two minutes to go.

Lucy all but sprinted the final stretch towards the expansive building. Faded letters hung above the main entrance; she could barely parse the words _Yancy Academy._ She almost slammed into the front door. She slowed to a fast walk through the empty halls to the girls’ dorms, trying to keep her panting quiet. It wouldn’t do her any good if she was caught sprinting to make it in time.

But it was all in vain. Her heart dropped as she reached the second floor and saw the first door on the left already open, spilling light into the hall. Two shadows shifted on the floor.

_...Eight this month. Thirty-seven total._

Lucy wiped her brow with her sleeve and checked that her knife was still hidden in her waistband. She clutched the handle through her shirt, drawing some comfort from it. After a few seconds, she took a heavy breath and strode towards the open door.

The two people in the room turned as she walked in and had their usual reactions. Carmen crossed her arms and chuckled. Mrs. Franz scowled at Lucy. “Late again _,_ Miss Isolde?” Her tone was stern but bored, as if she’d expected nothing less.

Lucy tried to keep her breathing in check. “Sorry, Mrs. Franz.” She tried to say it normally, but ended up coughing it out.

Mrs. Franz scoffed and made a note on the clipboard she held. “Bathroom duty again, Isolde,” she sighed as she walked past Lucy and out the door. “Really, I’m starting to think you might enjoy it. Though...” she paused to eye where the hellhound’s claw had torn the back of Lucy’s shirt open, “It’s probably not the dirtiest thing you regularly do.”

Carmen covered her mouth to conceal a laugh. Lucy blushed furiously as she caught the implication. Though she clenched her hands, she said nothing.

“Well, Carmen, you pass another day with flying colors. See to it that Lucy isn’t late to class, will you?”

Carmen smiled and nodded. “I’ll try not to let her get lost, Mrs. Franz.”

Mrs. Franz gave Carmen a nod and went to the next door. Lucy slowly pulled their own door shut. As soon as the latch clicked, Carmen started chuckling again.

“Wow,” she said. “Didn’t expect her to call you out like that. Maybe she’s been waiting for an excuse.”

Lucy walked to her bed, wanting nothing more than to fall in it. “Maybe.” She sat down and pulled shoes off aching feet.

Carmen gathered her assortment of shower supplies. Her curly brown hair was still frizzy and unkempt. She’d made a habit of waking up five minutes before inspection, just enough time to get dressed and presentable. If she woke up even five minutes earlier, she’d be irritable for most of the day. Lucy, who woke at five for her morning run, often slept in workout clothes to avoid waking her roommate while changing.

Carmen snickered again as she wrapped a towel around her neck. “Really though, _is_ bathroom duty the dirtiest thing you do? I’ve always wondered.”

Lucy’s shirt clung to her as she pulled it off. She turned it over to examine the tear in the back. It had been cut with surgical precision, with no hints of fraying. Though it was long, it wasn’t wide; only the very tip of the hellhound’s claw grazed the shirt. A centimeter more, and it would have cut her back open as well.

Slicing to the bone, severing her spine like a knife through butter. Her blood pooling in the street. Her face turning ashen.

_“You have to go… Don’t… Don’t let them find you...”_

_...Two._

“No,” Lucy muttered, a dull throb at her left hip. “It isn’t.”

Carmen paused at the door to give her an incredulous smile. “Really? Well, we’ll have to talk _details_ sometime, just so I can understand why it’s worth so many tardies to you. God knows _I_ couldn’t do bathroom duty...” With an exaggerated shudder, she stepped into the hall and closed the door behind her.

Lucy sighed as she stood, still holding the ruined shirt. _I really, really hope you never have to understand, Carmen._ Whatever she and Mrs. Franz believed, it was better than the truth. Lucy tossed the shirt in the trash and gathered her own shower supplies. She made sure her knife was concealed in her pillowcase before leaving.

She returned six minutes later and went to her dresser. While Carmen’s was nearly overflowing, Lucy’s was almost empty. She selected a frayed pair of jeans and and baggy purple t-shirt for the day. She gave her hair one brush with her hand before putting it into her usual ponytail. Her left shoe started coming apart when she tried to put it on; another layer of duct tape fixed it.

She paused when she pulled her knife out of her pillowcase. She wasn’t worried about Carmen seeing it; she usually took over half an hour in the shower. Lucy spun the golden blade slowly, admiring how it caught the light. It never seemed to dull, its polished surface like that of a mirror. The spine of the blade warped Lucy’s reflection. She rubbed the _A. I._ etched into the handle with her thumb.

 _“Transit umbra, lux permanet,”_ she whispered to it. The blade seemed to shimmer for the briefest of moments. She slipped it in her waistband on her right hip, making sure her shirt covered the handle. She’d get a lot worse than bathroom duty if anyone saw it.

Lucy was in the middle of a set of light stretches when Carmen returned at seven thirty-eight. She smirked, but didn’t comment. She spent the remainder of the hour in front of their lone mirror, fixing her hair and make-up. They both worked in silence, the way Lucy preferred it. As far as random roommate assignments went, Carmen was pretty good. She liked to banter, but didn’t feel the need to fill every second with small talk. Small talk wasn’t Lucy’s strong suit.

They both finished at around the same time and started packing their backpacks for the day. “Hey, Lucy,” Carmen said without looking up.

“Yeah?” Lucy said, looking for her calculator.

“I’m having someone over tonight. That okay?”

Today was Friday, and there were no room checks on weekends. That meant Carmen wanted privacy, which meant Lucy should clear out for the night. “Yeah, sure.”

“Cool.” Carmen slung her backpack over her shoulder and fluffed her hair. She eyed the shelf by the mirror and her desk, which were now covered in makeup and school supplies. “You mind tidying up for me before you leave later? I’ve got a meeting that runs late.”

Carmen liked to make a good impression. Her nice clothes and curated appearance were the first part. The second part was a tidy room. Lucy knew where all the stuff needed to go. “Of course.”

“Neat, thanks. See ya tomorrow. Try not to be late for class!” Carmen left her with a small smile.

Lucy slipped on her own backpack. _How about_ two _hellhounds instead? That sounds more pleasant than class…_ With a heavy sigh, she stepped into the hallway, which was now bustling with girls at or close to her age.

Morning classes passed in a blur. Though Lucy tried to pay attention, her mind kept wandering. Even when she did manage to focus, she couldn’t make sense of the words on the whiteboard, though she sat close to the front. In English Literature and American History, the notes she attempted to take turned into doodles. Halfway through she gave up on notes entirely and doodled for the remainder.

Things got better once she got to Precalc, one of her favorite classes. Though words were jumbled messes, numbers were something she could understand. Her notes on this subject were diligent, without a doodle to be seen. Today, however, Mrs. Jorner stopped writing on the board a full forty minutes before class ended, as was the custom on a due date.

“Alright everyone,” Mrs. Jorner tried to silence the bustling room. That was easier said than done with a class full of kids with behavioral problems. “Hey, everyone! You know the drill, you have an assignment due today by the end of class. Finish it if you haven’t already. Really take the time to learn the material, it’s all going to be covered on your final in two weeks!”

The class collectively groaned at the mention of the test, but otherwise seemed happy about worktime. Papers rustled as people pulled out their assignments. Lucy had only gotten about half of it done the previous night. Forty minutes would be plenty of time to finish it.

She’d barely opened the book and started reading the next problem when she felt a tap on her shoulder. “Uh, hey, Lucy?”

The tall boy who’d spoken - Mike, she thought his name was - seemed nervous to talk to her. “What’s up?” she asked.

“Uh, well… we were having some trouble with problem twelve. Could you help us out?” Mike pointed to the circle of desks he and three of his friends had made. One of them made a prayer gesture with his hands.

Lucy nodded and stood. “Yeah, of course.”

The boys grinned and thanked her as she approached. It took her a moment to find the problem in Mike’s book. _Hmm. Doesn’t seem too bad._

She knelt beside Mike’s chair. “So where are you guys stuck?”

“Uh… all of it?” one of them shrugged. The others nodded and chuckled nervously.

At Mike’s offer, she took a pencil and a blank piece of paper. “Here, it’s pretty straightforward once you get started. First, you’re going to want to…”

She went through the problem step by step and outlined how to approach similar ones. The boys followed along meticulously, copying her every step into their own notebooks. When she finished, each of them gave relieved sighs.

“Okay,” Mike said, nodding slowly. “Yeah, that kinda makes sense now. Thanks, Lucy.”

She gave them a smile. “It’s the least I can do.”

Lucy moved towards her own desk, but had only made it halfway when she was intercepted by a short girl from across the room. “Hi Lucy,” she said in a high, breathy voice. “Could you help me with problem fourteen? I tried it all last night and couldn’t get it…”

Lucy nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

Helping the short girl took around five minutes. After that was a group of other girls who asked for help with two problems, and another guy with problem twelve again. She’d just finished explaining the general outline of how to solve another equation when the bell for lunch rang.

Mrs. Jorner looked up from a book she’d been reading for all of worktime. “Alright everyone! Assignments up here! Grab your old one on the way out!”

Everyone shuffled up to the front to hand in their papers. Lucy went to her desk to grab hers, slightly worried. She wound up at the end of the turn-in line. When everyone else had gone, Mrs. Jorner looked at Lucy with a raised eyebrow.

“Finish this one?”

“...No,” Lucy said as she handed it over.

Mrs. Jorner read through her paper and sighed as she set it in the pile. “I’m done trying, Isolde. You have potential, but if you’re not gonna try, I can’t help you. Just try not to fail out in the last two weeks. That’s clearly all you care about.”

Lucy took the last paper in the return pile. One side of page was covered in her handwriting, neatly outlining a number of equations and graphs. But the other side was blank. At the top of the first side, there was a note written in red pen: _Incomplete. 64/100: D_

_...Nine total for Precalc. Six incomplete. One unstarted._

_Sixty-six total overall. Fifty-four incomplete. Five unstarted._

Lucy put the paper in her backpack. “I’ll try harder,” she said quietly.

“Somehow I doubt that.” Mrs. Jorner picked up her book again. Lucy left without another word.

Lunch failed to lift her spirits, not that she’d expected it to. The main entree was as repugnant as ever; she couldn’t tell what it was supposed to be, but it smelled worse than the hellhound. She sat at her usual table and picked at the veggies while she flipped through a notebook, looking at her doodles. Once she’d eaten everything edible, she pulled out a pencil and started some new ones to ease her troubled mind.

Lucy wasn’t much of an artist, but she liked doodling anyway. Letting her mind and hand wander in tandem produced some interesting and often surprising results. It was fun to see what they would turn out to be. Her characters were chibi in style, making them cartoony and cute. That contrasted with her preferred subject matter, heroic fantasy. She daydreamed of brave warriors, dreadful monsters and fateful quests of ages long past, and her hand mirrored her mind’s eye as best as it could. Sometimes she could see the images so sharply it was like watching through a spyglass. She hoped that one day she could put those images to paper properly, but that would require years of practice. For now, her chibi doodles were enough.

When there were only a few minutes left for lunch, Lucy set down her pencil and came back to reality. She looked on her works with a smile, marveling at some of the cutesy details. There was a little archer holding a bow above his head. There was a girl in a witch’s robe and hat shooting fireballs at a masked assassin. There was even an armored warrior on a horse, charging towards a dragon with spear in hand. She took some pride in that one; the detailing on the dragon’s scales and wings was more intricate than her average.

Her eyes shifted down to the last doodle she’d just completed. She went rigid in her chair.

It was of two girls, arm-in-arm, laughing towards the viewer. Aside from their hair length, it was hard to differentiate the two; Lucy wasn’t skilled at making distinct faces, and the chibi style didn’t help. A small squiggle was drawn on the left girl’s left cheek; a scar. When Lucy let her mind color the doodle in, that same girl’s eyes were a familiar shade of amber.

She looked up from her notebook and around the cafeteria. Most of the tables were quite crowded. Carmen was sitting with seven other girls. Mike and the guys from Precalc sat together with a few other guys. A few of the quieter kids sat in the corner. Yet, when Lucy looked around her table, there were only empty seats.

A hard lump rose into her throat. She shoved her notebook back in her bag and fast-walked to return her tray. Empty hallways greeted her when she left the cafeteria. She didn’t know where she was going. She just needed to get away.

The hollow ache in her chest was nothing new. It was such a constant that she ignored it most of the time. As a child, she’d learned to distract herself with doodles, training, and good works. But no matter how good the distractions, no matter how happy a day might otherwise seem, it was impossible to ignore it forever. There were always moments where it hit her like a truck, constricting her heart and making good thoughts impossible. Moments when she longed for something she felt like she should have, but had no idea how to find.

Lucy knew she wasn’t supposed to feel that way. Normal people didn’t grow up feeling that way. But Lucy was no normal person. Exactly what she was, she didn’t know, but she’d never felt _right_ with anyone, save for her mother. Was that why they neglected her so? Was she not right for anyone else?

She stopped at the end of one hallway and leaned against the wall. She closed her eyes and took deep, ragged breaths. Her fingers brushed the handle of her knife.

She would not cry. Her problems were nothing compared to the true suffering in the world. Her tears would be an insult. _I will not cry._

She straightened up and opened her eyes. She had Chemistry next. It’d be best for her to get there early and catch up on the last assignment. She nodded to herself as the ache dulled again. A solid plan of action usually helped her feel better. She’d just started towards the classroom when she heard a commotion echo down the adjacent hall.

Two voices, one high and one low, were arguing about something. The low voice sounded angry, while the high one was clearly frightened. Lucy frowned and hustled over to peer down the hall. She gasped and clenched her hands.

A pair of boys were midway down the hall. The shorter and pudgier of the two was slouched against the wall, trembling. A larger boy held him there with one hand, his other clenched at his side. He demanded something from the short boy that Lucy couldn’t make out. The short boy whimpered a reply. In response, the large boy brought up his free hand and punched him. Shorty cried out and dropped to the ground.

Lucy started towards them, her temper rising. “Hey!” she shouted. “Leave him alone!”

The bully glanced over at her. He chuckled, shook his head, and went back to Shorty, who cowered and put his hands over his face. Lucy growled and sped up. He was about to punch Shorty again when Lucy shoved him away. He grunted and nearly tripped over Shorty’s legs.

“Back off,” Lucy said, expecting the opposite.

The bully recovered and glared at her. “Oh, that’s it you little bitch!” He took two steps towards her, drew back his fist and threw a punch at her face.

The world ground to a screeching halt.

A switch had flipped in Lucy’s brain. Her every sense kicked into overdrive. The bully’s fist inched towards her as though passing through thick molasses. The scene was awash with detail, from the creases on his knuckles to the individual hairs on the back of his hand. Energy pulsed through her body with each heartbeat, driving her to move, to _act._ She welcomed it like an old friend. She never felt more alive than in those moments.

She leaned right. The bully’s punch drifted past her. Recalling old lessons, she set her feet and twisted, using her hips to throw her weight behind her own attack. The heel of her palm struck him directly in the nose.

The bully cried out and staggered back, clutching at his face. He dropped to one knee as he howled, blood dripping between his fingers. Lucy held her ready stance, but he didn’t try to rise. He only cursed at her and tried to stop his bleeding nose.

“Are you okay?” she asked the short boy, keeping her eyes on the downed bully.

Shorty didn’t respond right away. She noticed in the corner of her eye that he was rigid. She chanced glancing at him, thinking he’d been hurt worse than she thought. He looked a lot younger than her, a freshman if she had to guess. His jeans were baggy on him, but even with that she could tell he had some kind of problem with his legs. His curly brown hair was ruffled and one of his freckled cheeks was swelling, but he didn’t seem in pain. He was staring at her with forest green eyes, slack-jawed. His lower lip trembled.

“Are you okay?” Lucy repeated, louder. Again, he didn’t reply. Perhaps he had a concussion?

Then, he leaned forward and did something very strange: he _sniffed_ her. Lucy was surprised enough to drop her hands. Shorty somehow seemed more surprised than she did.

“Y-you’re…” Shorty whispered. “But… I never… I mean, I should have…”

Lucy was about to ask him what he was on about when the bell to end lunch rang. It only took a few seconds before doors were thrown open and bustling crowds streamed into the hall. When they saw Lucy standing over the kneeling bully with blood on her hand, many of them gasped and rushed forward.

“Fight!” one boy called down the hall. “Fight!” He got the attention of many who’d failed to notice at first. They ran over, clamoring for a clear view. Soon they were walled in by a solid mass of people. Many of them called for the bully to stand up. The people at the front had cell phones out, snapping pictures or recording videos. She noticed Carmen was one of them, laughing and keeping her camera trained on Lucy’s face.

Lucy shook her head and tried to go through the crowd, but they jeered at her and pushed her back. Shorty paid no mind to them, still staring at Lucy and muttering to himself. The bully pushed himself back up and pulled his hand away from his face. Blood oozed out of his misshapen nose. He walked towards her with a wobbly step, his teeth bared and fists raised.

She grit her teeth and raised her own fists again. The crowd started cheering. But before either could throw another punch, her escape arrived. Her heart sank as it did.

“What’s the meaning of this?” an angry voice boomed above the crowd. Their cheers died out almost instantly. They parted to make way for a tall, imposing woman dressed in a black suit and tie. Her eyes were black, as was her hair, which was tied into a single braid. Though she looked no older than her late twenties, there was an air of authority about her that made the other students gulp and look away. Though Lucy had never spoken with her directly, she knew who the woman was.

“Miss Warren,” Lucy straightened up, putting on a brave face. “I was trying to-”

“I can see for myself what you were trying to do, Miss Isolde,” Miss Warren crossed her arms and trained her gaze on Lucy.

She faltered for a rebuttal. Shorty scrambled to his feet and stood beside her. “B-but Miss Warren, she really was trying to-”

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Clearwater,” Miss Warren said without looking at him. “I believe you have an _assignment_ to return to?”

“Y-yes, ma’am,” he muttered, looking at the floor.

Miss Warren considered Lucy for a moment more while the crowd waited with held breath. “Mr. Gaines, report to the nurse’s office. Detention after class for the next week.”

The bully made like he was going to protest until she shot a glare at him. He held his nose and whimpered toward the floor. “Yes, ma’am,” he muttered.

She looked back at Lucy. “Miss Isolde. My office. Now.”

Murmurs broke out among the observers. Lucy’s heart sank even lower. She maintained as straight of a face as she could and nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

_One office trip this semester. Three total._

“The rest of you, get to class!” Miss Warren barked. People went scrambling off fast enough that the hallway was cleared again in seconds. The short boy Lucy had saved - Clearwater was his last name? - mouthed a _thank you_ to her before hurrying off after them.

“Glad I could help,” she whispered to no one. Miss Warren was already walking down the hall, not checking if Lucy was following. Lucy hustled to catch up, eyes downcast. Assigned bathroom duty again, dismissed as hopeless by her favorite teacher, and now going to the office for fighting. It was hard not to label the day a complete failure, and it was only twelve thirty-one.

But amidst all the bad, there was a shining speck of good. She’d helped people today. First Richard, the strange man who could see monsters. Her classmates in Precalc with their assignments. And just now, the Clearwater boy from a bully. Their thanks replayed again in her mind and warmed her heart. That was what she truly lived for. She could handle all of the bad if it meant giving them a little more good.

Taking solace in that, she straightened up and followed Miss Warren with a hand on her hip, trying to brace herself for whatever punishment lay in store.


	5. Kleptomania

_ “Take and give, give and take, but never enough. Do not rest long, little Thief. Do not speak of the truths you have seen.” _

* * *

 

Cael had been in New York for a grand total of five minutes before he started seeking trouble.

That wasn’t to say that he didn’t find the city captivating. He’d spent those first five minutes off the bus staring in awe at the gleaming Manhattan skyline that rose high all around him. It made him feel small in a way that places like Pittsburgh or Baltimore couldn’t. It was a surreal moment for him, standing in the heart of a city he’d dreamed of visiting but had never expected to.

It passed quickly. Sightseeing couldn’t scratch the itch he felt. For that, he needed people.

There was certainly no shortage of them. The midday crowds were large, the sidewalks packed with people of every imaginable ethnicity, every age, every profession and social status. Khakis and a rainbow of polos were most commonplace. Ragged and tired old men sat near alleys with cups in their hands, shaking them at oblivious passersby. A select few wore well-tailored suits or dresses with a slight swagger to their step.

The last group interested Cael the most. He studied them with a practiced eye, looking for a promising first mark. The affluent were higher risk, yes, but much higher reward. There was a certain draw to them that less fortunate folk couldn’t match. There was no thrill to be had in hunting deer when one had prowled among lions.

One walked past the bus stop where he still stood. He had a briefcase in one hand and a cellphone in the other, barking into it loudly. Cael gave the man a once-over to get a feel for him.

Gray suit, not a wrinkle on it. A slight pudge to his belly. Over-polished shoes. Sleek, styled black hair - wait, the way the wind rustled it at the front; a toupee. Stiffness in his hurried gait. A tightness around his lips and cheeks that suggested facial work.

 _Middle aged,_ Cael thought, _trying to look young and powerful. Willing to spend a lot of money for it. Very focused on his appearance…_

A combination lock on the briefcase - that he hadn’t bothered to lock. A bulge in his back pocket where his wallet was, with a button he hadn’t fastened. “I’ve told you before,” the man shouted into his phone as he passed Cael, “get the _non-_ dairy creamer!” He pressed the screen and shoved it in his pocket, glaring at the ground and muttering to himself.

 _...but not much else. Short of temper, easily distracted. Thinks his status will deter people. Lax with his valuables._ Cael cracked a smile. Perfect.

He nonchalantly merged into the crowd going in the same direction as the man. He kept his distance at first, observing how the man moved. Sometimes his initial assessment was off. Some of the snobbier types liked to look over their shoulders out in public. He wasn’t worried even if the man did. His shorts and t-shirt were a bit worn, his black hair was cut unevenly, and his drawstring backpack had a logo for some college in Pennsylvania, but he wouldn’t stand out in this crowd. He was just a scrawny seventeen-year-old guy, trying to look rough and cool while not setting himself apart too much.

That was an image he’d intentionally chosen, the image of something most adults ignored without thinking. A way of hiding in plain sight with only the crowd as his cloak.

He needn’t have worried. The man he was tailing was still looking at the ground, presumably still grumbling to himself. His right hand was shoved in his front right pocket, out of the way. A few people bumped into him on the crowded sidewalk, but he didn’t so much as glance up. More likely, he expected people to clear the way for him. His back pocket was tight against him, but Cael wasn’t worried about that.

_Hmm… Pricey watch, around two hundred bucks in cash, probably… Watch ain’t worth the risk. Go for the cash._

He closed the gap between himself and the man. His hand was steady as he reached for the man’s pocket. No reaction as Cael fished out the wallet. As he’d thought, the man had two hundred dollars in cash along with assorted credit cards. He took a hundred and slipped it in his own pocket.

_Never take everything, just enough to avoid immediate notice._

Again the man showed no reaction to Cael slipping the wallet back in his pocket. No one else around them seemed to have seen it, preoccupied as they were with phones or children. He fell back a couple paces to blend with the crowd behind him.

Cael grinned at his success, relishing the thrill it gave him. It was the purest joy, a successful theft. A sort of empowerment in an otherwise powerless life. A euphoria that could not be found otherwise, seized from those who would hoard it for themselves. It scratched the itch. It made him smile.

It kept the gate shut.

He continued walking behind the man for another block to deter suspicion by anyone watching. When the man turned down another street, Cael continued walking, still grinning. He had a spring in his step and a song in his heart as he entered eastern Manhattan. He clutched the money in his pocket, whistling a merry tune.

 _“I’m spreading the news,”_ he sang in quiet baritone. _“I’m leaving today… I wanna be a part of it, New York, New York…”_ A few people glared at him as he passed. No doubt the locals hated that song. He made eye contact with one, an older woman in a wide-brimmed sun hat, and paused to do an impromptu jig. He laughed at her incredulous glare. Even people in Baltimore weren’t that easy to rile up.

Cheerful as he was, it didn’t take long for the itch to return. He stopped whistling and went back to eyeing the crowd, looking for another good target. He spotted one just down the block, a woman in shades, formal dress and stilettos. She eyed the rougher people she passed with a frown, but her purse was open on her arm.

_Condescending, but careless. Easy pickings._

She was. He managed to grab two earrings from her purse without her noticing. Again, he felt the thrill of success. And again, the itch returned in short order, and he found another mark.

_Cautious, but only when not moving. Limp in his left leg, less likely to notice a pick from his right._

Another mark, another thrill. Another itch, another mark.

_Fakes importance, doesn’t actually carry anything of value. Pass._

_Frequent pocket checks. Watch for a window, go with caution._

_Paranoid to a fault, but carrying quite a lot. The type to pursue any grievance past the point of common sense. Worth? ...No._

He stopped somewhere around a dozen successful picks to grab lunch, the itch temporarily sated. He was eager to try some New York style pizza, after what he’d heard from some of the people on the bus. He was a bit dismayed to find it far too thin for his taste; he much preferred Chicago style instead.

Cael chuckled to himself as he paused behind the pizza shop to count his total earnings for the day so far. Earrings, a necklace, a couple pieces of candy, a voucher for a free burger at McDonald’s, and close to three hundred dollars cash. Already one of his more fruitful days, and he’d spent the entire morning on a bus.

 _Hmph,_ he thought as he added the items to his drawstring bag. _I figured this place would give more of a challenge. Well, if it keeps me fed…_

Of course, he’d long since passed the point of keeping fed. He hadn’t had to worry about going hungry for many years. Not since his first year on the road, right after…

…

Cael pulled his bag shut and went back out to the street. His goal now was to find a pawn shop where he could offload the jewelry he’d gotten. Hoping to avoid the next hour of distracted searching, a gut feeling nudged him towards a man waiting at the bus stop outside the pizzeria.

“Excuse me, sir?” he asked. The man, who had an almost comically bushy mustache, turned to him and raised an eyebrow. “Do you know the way to the nearest pawn shop?”

Mr. Mustache considered him. “Don’t know about ‘round here,” he said with a heavy accent Cael couldn’t place. “But I know a good place in Brooklyn. Take the Williamsburg bridge,” he pointed east, “then head north to Greenpoint. There’s a place called Steve’s Pawn on the south side of McCarren Park. Can’t miss it.”

Cael scratched his chin, making a mental map from what he knew of New York. “I think I can find it. Thanks.”

“You lookin’ to buy or sell?” Mr. Mustache asked.

“Bit of both,” Cael said. “...grandma’s jewelry, mostly,” he added in a lowered voice, casting his gaze to the sidewalk.

Mr. Mustache grunted. “Steve’s a bit of a hardass when it comes to jewelry… Tell him Roy sent you. He might go easier on you.”

Cael looked up and lifted one corner of his mouth. “Thanks.”

“S’not a problem. You ought to catch this next bus, it stops in Williamsburg.”

He shivered at the thought of spending another minute of today on a bus. “Nah, I’m good. I can walk.”

“Are you sure? S’a hell of a walk.”

“Yeah, I’ll be good. I could do with some exercise anyway.”

“Aight… Take care, young fella.”

They nodded to each other. Roy turned away. Cael noticed the edge of Roy’s wallet peeking out of his back pocket. Bits of his shirt weren’t tucked in like the rest. _Not too diligent._ He waited for the bus with a relaxed posture, a glazed expression on his face. _Likes to daydream. Not very attentive._ No fancy clothes, but clean and ordered. _Probably has around eighty bucks on him. Wouldn’t miss some._

Cael approached him slowly. Roy didn’t take notice of him when his hand slipped out the wallet. Like he’d thought, eighty dollars, ripe for the picking.

He shook his head, berating himself. He added a five dollar bill, then returned the wallet to Roy’s pocket. He shoved his hands in his pockets and started in the direction Roy had pointed, eyes downcast.

Roy had helped him, Cael had paid the debt. A small one, to be sure, but important all the same. Thief he may be, but he wasn’t without principles. He wouldn’t break faith with them, or with himself. Not in the way that had been done to him. Otherwise, he’d be no better than _them,_ no better than…

…

Cael spent the better part of the afternoon walking. Roy hadn’t lied; it was a hell of a walk. Though his mental map of the boroughs had been more or less correct, he’d vastly underestimated their size. Crossing the Williamsburg Bridge took him half an hour by his estimate. His pickpocketing detours didn’t help. By the time he reached the park Roy had directed him to, the sky was starting to darken.

His legs were aching when he found the store, his feet most of all. Though he’d stopped to have several drinks, he was parched and sweaty from the day’s heat. The thought of lying down and taking a nap was thoroughly inviting. He’d make a point of doing that later. For now, he had a show to put on.

He started fitting into his go-to persona. He whistled a soft, mournful tone to himself. His shoulders slouched, his eyes tensed. He clenched his hands rapidly. With a nearby patch of dirt, he smudged up his clothes, hands, and face. He gave a short breath, then stepped inside.

The store was cleaner and more organized than most pawn shops Cael had been in. The front had racks and shelves of cheap, common items like clothing and small electronics. The bigger stuff and antiques were farther to the back, near the main counter. A jewelry display case sat next to it; Cael noted how small it was. A few other people were browsing, but the eyes of the man behind the counter went directly to him.

Buzz cut. Stiff posture. Narrowed eyes. A scar on his chin. Broad physique. A sort of deliberation to his every motion.

 _Cautious to a fault,_ Cael thought as he approached the counter. _Experienced and distrustful. Not the kind of person you steal from and get away with. He already suspects you. Your act will have to be damn good._

He suppressed a grimace. This wouldn’t be fun.

His steps were small, his shoulders still slightly slouched. He stopped by the counter and cleared his throat. “Um, hello,” he said quietly, avoiding the man’s eyes.

The man - who he assumed must be Steve - regarded him coldly. “Well?” he said, his voice gravelly. “What’ll it be?”

Cael blinked and shook his head. “Oh, uh, right. I need to, um, I came here to-” he paused to clear his throat again and rub his eyes. “Sorry. I need to sell some stuff.”

Steve shifted in his chair, leaning forward. “Alright then, let’s see it.” Cael pulled off his bag and retrieved the earrings and necklace from it. As soon as Steve saw them, he scowled. “Yeah, okay. Good try kid. Now give me one good reason I shouldn’t call the cops.”

Cael widened his eyes. “The c-cops?” he asked in as timid a voice as he could manage.

Steve gave him a hard glare. “I’ve seen your like a thousand times, kid. You think you can swipe your mom’s or sister’s jewels and make a quick buck. You think I believe for a second these are yours? Again, give me a good reason not to call the cops on your ass right now.”

Cael blanched and shook his head. “Wait, sir, please, I can explain-”

“Yeah, sure you can,” Steve growled as he picked up a phone. “Tell it to the judge.”

Cael clutched the jewelry tightly and leaned against the counter. His bag went tumbling to the floor. He grimaced and clenched his teeth, dreading what needed to come next. “Please, these are my grandmother’s, we need the money-”

“Hey, you can drop the act, kid, I ain’t buying it.” Steve started to press buttons on the phone.

His fleeting hope wilted. He needed a more convincing act. Now was the moment. If only it didn’t require risking his sanity.

Slowly, reluctantly, he opened the gate by the smallest amount. It was almost a flood on its own.

_“You’re a parasite.”_

He slammed his hands on the counter and shouted in frustration. It was enough to startle Steve into silence. Cael held his gaze, his expression a mixture of anger and anguish as he cried. “You think I _want_ to do this?!” he demanded. He gestured to the jewels on the counter. “My grandma _loved_ these! They were all she could afford! It’s… It’s all we have left of her,” his voice cracked on the last word. He closed his eyes tightly and gave a soft sob. “But we need the money,” he practically whimpered. “I’ve tried everywhere else, a man named Roy told me to come here… Please… We can’t afford not to, I can’t…”

More than any carefully chosen words or motions, what sold any act was the emotion behind it. It was surprisingly easy to sway people with a few tears and some cracked screaming, particularly if it seemed genuine. Cael didn’t have to reach far for that. The hardest part of such acts was toeing the line before they became real. It was a form of brinkmanship he’d gotten skilled at, but could never be comfortable with. No matter how little it was, he always seemed to come too close.

Too close to tearing open old wounds. Too close…

_“You don’t deserve my name.”_

_Inhale. Count to four. Exhale. Count to seven._

He got the gate closed again. It left him more drained than the hours of walking had.

The entire store had gone deathly silent but for Cael’s sobs. Through blurry eyes he could make out Steve grimacing at him. “...Roy told you to come here?” he asked quietly, his stern tone considerably subdued.

“Yeah… Friendly guy…” Cael gave a strained chuckle. “My grandpa used to wish for a mustache like that…”

Steve gave a long, drawn out sigh. Cael maintained the facade. These smaller stores relied mostly on word of mouth and a loyal customer base, even in bigger cities. There was no way Steve could turn him away in front of everyone in the store after that scene, not without a substantial blow to his reputation. The Roy detail was just the icing on the cake.

“Okay, kid,” Steve said grudgingly. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Cael sighed and smiled broadly. “Oh, thank you, thank you…”

It took about fifteen minutes for Steve to verify that the jewelry was authentic, during which Cael slowly recomposed himself. He eventually came back over with a small stack of a cash and a remorseful expression. “I don’t know how much you were expecting, kid, but it isn’t much.”

It was somewhere around two hundred bucks by Cael’s estimate. He grimaced but accepted it with a small smile. “We… we can make it work. Thank you, sir. I’m… sorry about yelling,” he added sheepishly.

“It’s okay, kid,” Steve said. “Erm… Sorry about the accusation-”

“It’s all right,” Cael said as he shoved the money in his bag. “I understand.”

“And… sorry about your grandma,” he added with a hint of genuine sympathy. “It gets easier with time.”

Cael didn’t reply to that right away. It struck a chord with him. _It gets easier with time._ A piece of advice that was commonplace for every manner of problem. Fabricated as his professed grief may be, he had plenty that were not. He’d heard the same thing about each of them. _It gets easier with time._

He didn’t believe that. He couldn’t.

“Thank you,” Cael choked out, not entirely an act on his part. He bid Steve farewell, then grabbed his bag and hurried to the door. One of the other customers tried to say something to him, but he pushed his way past them. He felt very drained. He couldn’t keep up the act a minute longer.

_Inhale. Count to four. Exhale. Count to seven. Find something to ground yourself. Back away from the gate..._

He wandered into McCarren Park. He whistled a cheerful tune softly to himself as he walked. Children were running and laughing here, accompanied by the songs of birds nestled in the trees. A tiny island of nature amidst the steel jungle of the city. He tuned out the urban bustle and let the park’s music wash over him, an accompaniment to the song he sang to himself.

It helped him some, and after a few minutes he was able to breathe easier. It was no substitute for open country, of course. He often missed the days he’d spent out there, learning to sustain himself in the first few months of his new life. Eventually, the need for food had driven him to the cities. That, and the wilds didn’t exactly give him much chance to flex his thieving muscles. Still, perhaps he should try it again someday soon. Buy a proper hunting bow and camping gear, set off into the Appalachians and see how he did for himself. Lost thieving potential aside, there was a freedom in that prospect that was intoxicating.

Cael sighed and came back to reality near the northern edge of the park. Now that it was getting dark, the streets would soon be full of people heading home for the day. There were bound to be some ripe pickings in those crowds. Not as plentiful here as in Manhattan, perhaps, but he could make do. Just so long as-

He froze where he was. He blinked and rubbed his eyes, hoping he was wrong. His heart rate skyrocketed.

It walked among the crowds on the sidewalk perpendicular to him. It was humanoid in shape, but past that, it was anything but normal. It had to be at least nine feet tall and about half as broad, with rippling muscles and a head that was almost comically tiny by comparison, dressed in only a pair of jean shorts far too small for it. Tattooed on its arm were several snakes and a valentine heart with a name he couldn’t make out. No one around it batted an eye, though they moved around it just fine.

A monster.

Cael took short, ragged breaths. He’d encountered them only rarely in Pittsburgh and Baltimore. He’d thought coming to a larger city would make them even less common. In hindsight, that logic was stupid. Why would they care? No one but him could see them. No amount of witnesses would deter them. Worst of all, he knew he wasn’t crazy to see them. He had a scar across his torso that was proof of that.

It frowned at a cheeseburger it clutched between two of its fingers. It twisted the food and cocked its head, like it wasn’t sure what it was holding. It brought the burger closer to its face and sniffed it.

Its eyes went wide. It sniffed again as it stopped walking. Slowly, it lowered the burger from its face and sniffed again.

Cael didn’t need to be told what would happen next; he was already sprinting in the opposite direction, his fatigue gone. He only ran for about five seconds before a blood-chilling bellow echoed behind him. A few people he passed glanced up, but went back to what they were doing immediately.

He tried to stay rational, despite his terror. He ran deeper into Brooklyn, taking the least crowded route he could find. Experience had taught him that no crowd would impede a monster’s progress; they simply parted the way for it, no matter its size. Better to take the path of least resistance for himself, though he also knew he wouldn’t be able to outrun or outlast the beast. He needed a different escape.

Cael glanced back for a split second. Though he could hear the thing’s roars, he couldn’t see it; he had a decent lead. Without slowing down, he slipped off his drawstring bag and opened it. Finding the items he needed while running cost him precious seconds. He whooped as he found his salvation: a pair of boxers and a can of Axe body spray.

He veered to the left, as close as he could get to the street. A car parked along the sidewalk ahead of him started up. On its roof were a pair of flags flying the emblem of the New York Jets. He slowed down as he reached the car, just enough to slip one leg of the boxers on the flagpole and push the flag up through them. The underwear flapped in the wind beneath the flag as the car pulled into the street. A few people glared at him and the car, but the driver didn’t seem to have noticed.

Next, he turned the can of Axe on himself and sprayed. A foul cloud coated him. He stumbled as he coughed, his eyes burning. Dear God above, how could anyone possibly find it appealing? Several people backed away in disgust. Good; working as intended.

Scent covered, check. False trail, check. Now he just needed somewhere to hide.

Cael spotted a dumpster down a narrow side street and turned sharply toward it, nearly slipping on gravel as he did. He practically slammed chest first into it and tried to lift the lid. It wouldn’t budge more than an inch; there was a padlock on the lefthand side.

He fumbled through his bag for his picks, panting hard from the run and fear. He found them and rammed one into the lock, trying to pry it open with shaking hands. His first effort was so frantic that the pick broke in half and fell from the lock. His second was no better. All the while he could hear the roars of the giant, steadily getting closer to him. His misdirections wouldn’t help if the creature saw him here.

He pulled out a third pick and forced himself to insert it slowly. He closed his eyes, sucked in a deep breath and held it. His mind’s eye conjured a picture of the lock’s inner workings. The way each pin was arranged compared to his pick was clear to him, as was the way he needed to move to work them. With steady movements, he shifted his pick for a few more seconds. The lock clicked.

Cael wasted no time congratulating himself. He tossed the lock to the ground and threw the lid open. He had a moment’s hesitation as an awful stench hit him, even worse than the Axe. He steeled himself and vaulted into the dumpster, pulling the lid down behind him.

Mercifully, he landed on what felt like a solid garbage bag. The dumpster was pitch black, save for a dim crack of light near the lid. The stench was far worse without clean air; he probably needn’t have bothered with the Axe. Despite being out of breath from the run, he constrained his breathing to short puffs through his mouth. Partially to stay quiet, but mostly due to the stink. He also tried to stay motionless, hoping he wouldn’t have to touch whatever the stink’s source was.

Outside, the roaring draw closer. It echoed down the street, then stopped. Cael could feel every thump as something massive walked towards where he was hidden. His heart caught in his throat. Had it found him despite his efforts?

“Hmm,” something hummed deeply. “Where tasty hero go?” The dumpster rattled as it drew closer. Cael stayed as still and silent as he could, too terrified to process what it meant by “hero.”

It started sniffing. It made a growl that sounded like disgust. It sniffed some more and took a few steps away from the dumpster.

When it roared, long and loud, it scared the daylights out of Cael. He yelped from shock, but it was drowned out by the thing’s warcry. It shouted something else he didn’t catch and took off running. It’s thunderous footfalls faded, as did its roars. Finally, it was gone entirely.

Cael breathed a sigh of relief. He immediately regretted that decision and started to gag. He threw the lid open and crawled out of the dumpster, gasping for air. He slid to the ground next to the dumpster and sat there with a blank expression, panting. It took him a few minutes before he was able to crack the smallest of smiles.

 _Rest in peace, brave underwear,_ he thought with a chuckle. _Your sacrifice will not be forgotten._ Unfortunately, that left him with only two spare pairs. He’d have to get another at some point just to avoid extra trips to the laundromat. Street urchin and criminal he may be, but he _refused_ to go without clean underwear. His first year alone had driven that point home in more ways than one.

He’d have to be more careful here. He didn’t know how many more monsters this city had to hide. Granted, they didn’t do a great job of hiding, but neither did he. He would see them from a mile away right as they caught his scent. Maybe he’d have to start wearing the Axe all the time, God forbid. Or get a couple air fresheners to hang off his belt. Maybe some stinkbombs that smelled like him. At least then he wouldn’t have to give up a piece of clothing on every chase.

Cael still didn’t understand why. Why monsters existed, why he could see them, and why they seemed interested in his smell specifically. But he’d long ago stopped asking. He didn’t have even the barest hint of where to start looking for answers. He knew how to trick them, and how to escape from them. That was good enough. Whatever the answers were, something told him he didn’t want to know.

But maybe he did already. Maybe they saw him as their likeness. Something less than human, cloaked in human skin amongst oblivious masses. A lie, a facade no one dared to breach, not even himself.

Perhaps monsters only hunted other monsters.

_“Disgusting little demon.”_

Cael rammed his eyes shut. _Inhale. Count to four. Exhale. Count to seven._

The gate slid shut again.

He went slack against the dumpster, exhausted in both mind and body. The itch to steal was barely a buzz at the back of his mind. He elected to ignore it for the night. Though it was still early in the evening, he wouldn’t go chasing any more thrills today. He’d had more than enough.

He opened his bag and counted up his earnings from the day. Just over six hundred dollars in cash, one of his better days recently. Ten of that would go to a hot meal, maybe another five for a midnight snack. Around a hundred to a hundred and fifty more for a warm bed, depending on where he looked. A new pack of underwear for around twenty. His drawstring bag was straining to hold his meager supplies; maybe he’d bite the bullet and actually buy a proper backpack. That’d be around another thirty. Then, of course, the two hundred he’d save in his bag for emergency use.

What to do with the remainder? He didn’t ponder that for long. The answer was usually the same. All that changed was the method of execution. After a day like today, more than anything, he needed to get away. Luckily, a city like New York offered plenty of chances at that. So long as you had the money.

No amount of money could keep him away as long as wished. But he’d make do. He had to.

Cael stood with a groan. He stretched out, slung his bag on his back, and set out in search of an arcade, a theater, or ideally, a range. Any place that could fill a bit of time. Give him a task. Make him smile, maybe even laugh.

Anything to keep the gate shut a while longer.


	6. Destinations

_ “They bear the blood of tyrants, carry the sins of their fathers. They come for you, Heavens above, they come for you!” _

* * *

 

Lucy trained.

Her arms wobbled beneath her as she struggled to complete another push-up set. She’d lost count of how many she’d done. The rest of her fared no better, her legs, core and chest all protesting the exercise. She grit her teeth and forced out the last one. Without pause, she rolled onto her back and started a set of sit-ups. Her abs throbbed with each motion.

She didn’t have much else to do. She’d been alone in this room - small, windowless and completely bare save for a single desk and chair - for what was approaching four and a half hours. She’d expected Miss Warren to shout her down and expel her, or at least give her bathroom duty for the rest of the year. Instead, the principal had placed her in this jail cell of a room and told her they would have words when she came out. No homework, nothing to doodle on, not even a clock on the wall to stare at.

“In-school suspension,” she’d heard it called. “Solitary confinement” seemed more appropriate.

For the first half hour, she’d sat fidgeting at the desk, anxious about what words Miss Warren had in mind. Waiting made it worse, which she’d guessed was the intent. After that, the anxiety became annoyance. She doubted she’d get expelled; why bother with this treatment otherwise? Just give her the talk and let her go already. It wasn’t like there was any lesson to be learned here. What she’d done to that bully was justified. She wouldn’t apologize for it.

She couldn’t sit still much longer than that. Her ADHD drove her to move, to _act._ So she trained.

Lucy paused to wipe her brow. Swallowing was getting difficult. They could’ve at least brought her some water. Perhaps they’d forgotten about her. It was four fifty-three, long past the end of classes. She decided to do one more full set. After that, she’d at least have to sneak out to get a drink.

From her sit-ups, she rolled into a plank and held it, counting to herself between breaths. For as long as she’d been in here, she found she couldn’t hate it. It gave her space and time for training, something she’d been lacking lately. She didn’t have to constantly worry that she should be doing something else. Homework, studying, cleaning, training, patrolling, it never mattered what she chose; the most important option was always whatever she wasn’t currently doing.

In a way, having the choice taken from her was liberating. No need to think. Only train.

She grunted and changed positions, holding each for precisely thirty seconds. The pain she felt was not pain to her. Each ache was its own small reward. A fire in the forge. A hammer on the anvil. Molding her body to be the weapon she needed. A weapon that could fight monsters, supernatural and otherwise. A weapon for the people that needed her. For the people she could help.

For the people she’d failed.

_“I… I don’t… want to…”_

_...Three._

Her left hip throbbed apart from her aches.

The door finally opened just as Lucy finished her core set. She scrambled to her feet as Miss Warren entered. “Keeping busy, Miss Isolde?” She said it sternly, but without malice.

Lucy bit back an irritated comment. “Yeah,” she managed, trying not to seem too exhausted.

Miss Warren turned away from her. “Come. Let’s talk.” She walked out and turned into her adjacent office without checking if Lucy was following. Lucy hurried after her, trying not to stumble on legs that felt like jelly.

Some of her anxiety returned at the thought of a private talk with Miss Warren. Though she’d only been the principal of the academy for six months - taking the place of the former, laidback man when he was offered a better job out of the blue - she’d already developed a fearsome reputation among the students. Supposedly she came from a military background, which seemed fitting, given some of the stories about her. Many people had taken to calling her _Miss Warden_ in hushed breaths. If she knew about the nickname, she didn’t try to discourage it. So far, Lucy wasn’t inclined to disagree with it either.

 _How about_ three _hellhounds at once instead?_ she thought. _Yeah. Three sounds nice._ She put a hand on her concealed knife. She could do this. It was just a talk.

Lucy shivered as she stepped in Miss Warren’s office. It was large, but mostly empty and sparsely decorated. A desk, three chairs, and a water cooler were the only pieces of furniture. The desk was clean save for a laptop and a bobblehead of a blonde cartoon man holding a chaingun. On the back wall hung framed newspaper pages. Though Lucy couldn’t make sense of the words, she guessed from the yellowing paper that they had to be decades old. The grayscale photos showed parades of tanks and men in uniform.

Miss Warren was seated at her desk already. She gestured to one of the empty chairs opposite her.  “Take a seat, Lucy.” Though her voice and expression were still stern, she didn’t seem angry. That gave Lucy a bit of hope. She sat down, her heart still pounding. Mercifully, a glass of water was waiting on the desk for her. At a nod from Miss Warren, she took it, trying not to guzzle it down too quickly. It soothed a few of her aches and cleared her head.

Miss Warren folded her hands on her lap and stared at Lucy. Something in her demeanor made Lucy sit a bit straighter, ready to accept her obvious authority. Her gaze was intense, but there was a hint of warmth there too. Oddly, it reminded Lucy of her mother. Lucy had to look away, intimidated. For a long minute, they both said nothing.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Lucy,” Miss Warren said, maintaining her gaze. “The teachers like to talk. A lot of them say you’re lazy. Some say you’re stupid. One of them thinks you should have been kicked out months ago. Says you spend your nights… _fraternizing_ was how she put it.”

Lucy grimaced. _That was definitely Mrs. Franz,_ she thought. Though she clenched her hands, she said nothing.

“Your record doesn’t do much to defend you,” Miss Warren continued. “State custody, placed here because no more foster families would take you. Fifty-four incomplete assignments this semester, five unsubmitted. Four failed tests. Thirty-seven days of bathroom duty this year. Fistfights on three separate occasions. By the numbers alone, you stand out as one of the most delinquent students in a school of delinquents. Someone to run through the system and hope it’s not something violent that lands them in prison down the road.”

She said it all so nonchalantly. The words hit Lucy like bullets. She looked hard at the desk with a quivering lip. Was that really what the teachers thought of her? Just another problem to weather until it wasn’t theirs anymore?

“But…” Miss Warren leaned forward, “I’ve been keeping an eye on you myself, and I don’t see that.”

Lucy looked up and blinked. “You… don’t?”

“No,” she said with a strange glint in her eye. “I see a girl with talents she isn’t sure how to use. Someone with heart who has no idea where she’s going. I see a girl with many distractions.”

Lucy pondered that. “I’m… not sure I-”

“Tell me, Lucy,” Miss Warren said, folding her hands on the desk. “What do all the problems your teachers list about you have in common?”

The question caught her by surprise. “They… They’re me being late?” she said with a shrug. “With homework, to room checks, I don’t know…”

“Yes, some of them. But in those cases, why were you late?”

“I… stopped to help someone.”

Miss Warren nodded. “And each of your fights. What was the cause of each?”

“Bullies,” she muttered, clenching one hand. “I… I hate bullies.”

To her surprise, Miss Warren actually half-smiled. “Again, you helped others. That’s something to be commended, not reprimanded.”

Lucy frowned. “...Wait-”

“Some of the rumors about me aren’t far off the mark, Lucy,” Miss Warren said as she stood, walking to the back wall to stare at one of the old newspapers. “I’ve seen war. I’ve seen countless men die on the battlefield. I’ve seen cowardice, self-interest, corruption, too many times. But… I’ve seen the things you’ve shown me. Bravery. Selflessness. A willingness to risk oneself for the sake of another, for something greater than themselves. You’re quick to think with your fists, it’s true. You have a warrior’s heart. But it’s an _honorable_ one. That will serve you well in days to come. Your mother would be proud of you, I think.”

Lucy gaped at Miss Warren, shocked by the sudden outpouring. What was she going on about? Battlefields? Honor? _Her mother?_ The mere mention of her brought anger to Lucy. Who was this woman to preach at her about bravery, to talk about Mom like she knew her?

 _But…_ a little voice in the back of her head seemed to say, _Mom used to say a lot of the same things._

She forced her anger down and cleared her throat. “Um, Miss Warren-”

“Call me Bella, Lucy,” she said as she sat back down. “No need to be so formal. Class hours ended a while ago.”

 _One hour and forty-four minutes ago, to be exact,_ she thought bitterly. “Okay, erm… Bella,” the name sounded weird on her tongue. “So… If all that is so great, then… Why’d you lock me in that room for so long?”

Miss Warren - hard to think of this stern woman as Bella - raised an eyebrow. “Lock you in? I didn’t.”

Lucy couldn’t help but scowl. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know it isn’t. I never told you to _stay_ in the room. I just told you we’d have words when you came out.”

Lucy’s jaw dropped. “I… You…”

“I was convinced you’d stay in there all night if I didn’t come get you. And you spent all of it exercising. You’d make an excellent soldier.”

She sat in stunned silence. Her punishment had basically been a _prank?_ Hard to call it anything else, from Bella’s small smirk. She felt like she should’ve been angry; she’d spent _four and a half hours_ in there. More than anything, she just felt stupid. Those _had_ been Bella’s exact words.

Bella quickly became stern again. “You put aside your own interests in favor of others. It is admirable behavior, Lucy… to a point.”

“And what point is that?” she asked a bit harsher than she probably should have.

Bella didn’t react to Lucy’s tone. “You cannot _always_ act on what you think another wants or needs. That path is not as noble as you might think. One day, you may have to balance conflicting interests. That is where _your_ ideals must win the day. What do _you_ want, Lucy? Where will your journey take you? A blade without a cause will rust away. But one with purpose? That is how empires rise and fall. That is how the world changes.”

Lucy sat back and pursed her lips, still simmering. She had no idea how to feel about the principal now. She still had that commanding presence about her, but so far all she’d done was toy with Lucy and ramble on about philosophy. And talking about blades and empires? That was a really old-school metaphor. While Lucy did have some interest in that kind of history, she wasn’t fond of being preached at. It reminded her too much of the days after Mom’s passing.

That, and she didn’t have the slightest idea how to answer Bella’s questions.

“I… have to think about it,” Lucy said.

Bella nodded. “Of course. It’s a weighty problem. Well then, I suppose I’ve used enough of your time, haven’t I? I believe you have some duties to attend to yet?”

 _Don’t remind me,_ Lucy thought. “Um, yeah.” She stood, suppressing a groan at her aching legs. “Well… See you later.”

“Yes, I imagine you will.” Bella went back over to the framed articles. “Take care not to get too distracted, Lucy. The tides of change are rising. You can be swept away, you can try to ride them, or you can harness them. That is up to you.”

Lucy took that as a dismissal. She tried to keep quiet as she walked to the door, worried that Bella might remember to give her some kind of other punishment for the earlier fight. She cast one look back as she left the room. Bella was still staring at the farthest article, hands clasped behind her, her posture stiff as though at attention.

The halls were dim and empty as Lucy walked back to her dorm. Most of the other students had probably left for the weekend. Though students were expected to remain at the academy close to full time, a lot of them came from rich families in the city and chose to spend their weekends at home. Carmen came from such a family, though she chose to remain at the school to take advantage of the privacy the weekend offered. Lucy tried not to think too hard about that; she was more than willing to give her roommate the room, regardless of the reason.

 _Five o-two. Better do the bathroom quick so I can clean and clear out before Carmen gets back._ Afterwards, she’d spend the evening on patrol. She nodded to herself, a bit more vigor in her step. It was easier to approach a day with a solid plan in mind, even if it involved some distasteful tasks.

Yet she was still disturbed, frowning at the ground. She couldn’t sort it out. The dreary events of the day, the aches in her muscles, even the strange behavior of the supposedly dictatorial principal - those were problems she knew how to deal with. That was everyday life. What nagged at her now was something she’d never seriously asked herself. Something she had no idea how to immediately answer.

_Where will your journey take you?_

The question plagued her even as she found the cleaning cart and steered it into the all-too familiar restroom for the thirty-seventh time.

* * *

 

Cael practiced.

He sucked in a long breath as he raised the bow and drew back its string. The arrow’s fletchings came to rest near his cheek. The target was about sixty meters away, farther than he was accustomed to. The bow trembled slightly as he took aim; its draw strength was also more than he was accustomed to. These deficiencies didn’t trouble him. That was the only way to improve.

He exhaled slowly to steady his hand. Just as his breath petered off, he released.

The arrow struck the target with a distant thud. Cael lowered the bow and squinted down the range. A four out of ten. He grimaced. He typically averaged around seven or eight; at this distance with this weapon, his average was somewhere around two. That shot had been fantastic by comparison.

A drumroll of thuds echoed from the other targets on the range. A few people whooped as they hit nines or tens. Cael hadn’t expected the indoor archery range to be quite so busy; it seemed a niche interest for big city folk. Indeed, the gun ranges elsewhere in the building seemed much more lively. It made him self-conscious, shooting in front of strangers. Occasionally he’d catch one chuckling at his abysmal performance.

He tried to pay them no mind. It was all a matter of practice, something Cael hadn’t found much time or space for recently. He wouldn’t let a bunch of random jerks ruin his fun. Despite his poor performance, he was enjoying himself. Archery was one of his favorite hobbies for killing time.

 _And maybe for killing monsters somehow too,_ he thought as he drew another arrow. The encounter with the giant earlier in the day was still fresh in his mind, despite his attempts to suppress it. He liked to imagine the thing’s ugly mug hanging on the target as he shot. Though he occasionally daydreamed about slaying monsters with expert shots from a bow, he knew trying would be pointless. When he’d been attacked by a monster for the first time - a black mastiff about as tall as he was with glowing red eyes - he’d tried stabbing it directly in the eye with a pocket knife. All that had done was make it angry. Similar attempts at harming different monsters with conventional means had failed, save for a snake demon who’d literally disintegrated after being hit by a speeding bus. Excepting runaway public transportation, he wasn’t sure if there was any good way to harm a monster, much less kill one. All he could really do when confronted with one was run away and hide.

That’s all he ever did, run away and hide.

Cael’s next shot was a two. A person to his left gave a mocking clap. He grit his teeth and took another arrow. He’d be doing so much better if he’d gotten a bow with lower draw strength. Then again, maybe not, since the range was farther. It was pointless to consider; he had to work with what he had. Shooting conditions wouldn’t always be optimal. Better to be moderately skilled in a variety of situations than to excel in one or two.

One of the fletchings brushed his chin. He exhaled slowly, eyes on the target. He was finding the range, starting to get a feel for the extra kick on release. He started to let go of the string-

“That’s not how to-”

A sudden voice behind him made him flinch as he released. His shot went wide, completely missing the target. Laughs echoed from the people to his left. Fuming, he whirled around to face the speaker. “What was that for?” he said, trying not to shout.

The man put his hands up in a placating gesture. “Sorry, didn’t mean to spook you. Just want to help out.”

Cael regarded the man with a scowl. He was on the taller and scrawnier side, with black hair, blue eyes, and sharp, angular features. He vaguely reminded Cael of himself, if a little older and more scraggly; Cael would never consider growing a beard like that. Nor would he share the man’s sense of fashion. He wore cargo shorts, a red undershirt, a large backpack stuffed full to bursting, and a wide-brimmed hat. His clothes were worn and covered in dust; it looked like he’d been on a hiking trail for several days. Luckily, he didn’t smell like it. Not that Cael could tell at least.

Though Cael knew he should try to be civil, he couldn’t help but be irritated at the man. “Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t need help.” He turned back to the range and picked up another arrow.

“I just wanted to point out that your draw grip is off,” the man said, approaching him. “You don’t want to pinch the string with your thumb and index finger. You’ll want to use your first three fingers, without your thumb.”

Cael nearly turned around and snapped at him. Didn’t this guy get the memo? But curiosity overrode his anger. He leaned forward and peeked around the dividing wall of the range. He could just make out the bows of other shooters as they nocked their next shots. Sure enough, they gripped the string with their first three fingers, one above the shaft, two below.

He grudgingly nocked his own arrow and tried the grip. It felt strange at first, but as he drew, it did feel a bit easier, more stable. He aimed, exhaled, and let the shot go. It hit the target in the six ring.

The hiker man behind him nodded with approval. “Better. You want a couple more pointers? I’ve got a few.”

Cael forced down the irritation he still felt. Though the man seemed friendly enough, there was something about him that put Cael off. He had to try to look past that. The man’s first hint had proven useful. At the very least, Cael had to see what else he could pick up. He had to treat it like he did when he got information from anybody else. Be polite in asking, quick in learning, thankful afterwards, and quick to leave. Just another routine interaction.

He nodded, forcing the scowl off his face. “Sure,” he said, letting some remorse seep into his voice. “What else you got?”

The man grinned and stepped closer, holding a hand out for the bow. Cael obliged him. “Next thing is to choose a consistent anchor point for your draw.” The man lifted and drew the bow without no arrow, the string coming near his cheekbone. He seemed to have no trouble with the draw strength. “You changed between your cheek, your chin, and even your neck on one. Pick one spot you’re comfortable with, and strive to draw to there every time. Practice releasing without pulling the string in any direction, or you’ll skew your shot.”

Cael watched and nodded, feeling a bit humbled as the man continued, demonstrating a few small adjustments to his form. He was a bit miffed that the man had obviously been watching him shoot for a while, but he shoved that aside in favor of learning more. When Cael got the bow back, he did his best to incorporate all of the advice he’d received. It was too much to do at once, however, and his next shot only landed him a five.

“Ah,” the man sighed. “Well, keep trying. It’s a lot to take in. Try to practice one thing at a time. Bring it all together slowly.”

Cael nodded and took another arrow. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it, kid. Always happy to help a fellow traveller.”

Cael looked up at the man and narrowed his eyes. “Who’d you say you were again?”

The man shrugged. “Just a wandering hermit. Lots of places to go, lots of things to see, lots of, ah… stuff to acquire,” he said the last part with a wink.

Cael glanced down at the backpack at his feet. So far it looked untouched. To be safe, he nudged it farther away. The man - Cael decided to think of him as Hermit - just chuckled.

“No need to fear, kid. I’m not sure you’ve got anything I’d want anyway.”

 _Except about three hundred dollars,_ Cael thought. He resolved to keep a closer eye on Hermit until he left. Hermit had basically admitted to being a thief, and Cael knew that mindset all too well. Sometimes it didn’t even matter if you wanted it. Sometimes you only took it to see if you could.

Cael tried another shot and scored another five, distracted as he was by watching Hermit from the corner of his eye. Hermit nodded and smiled, but he didn’t laugh. If anything, he almost looked proud, despite the lackluster result. Though Cael would prefer it if Hermit left, part of him was curious. Hermit claimed and looked to be a wanderer, the same as Cael. He even kinda looked like what Cael imagined his older self might look like, though God forbid he grow a beard like that. Cael couldn’t help a bit of a curiosity. Hermit might be irritating, but at least he was interesting.

“How’d you learn to shoot so well?” Cael asked. “Just practice, or…”

“Oh, I’m not much of an archer myself,” Hermit said. “My twin siblings are nuts about it though. You can’t help but pick up a few things just through sheer exposure.”

Cael nodded; he understood that well enough. He drew again, correcting his form accordingly. His next shot hit seven. He grinned at that, imagining what he could do with a proper bow. He’d have to commit Hermit’s advice to memory and practice more often. Though it wasn’t a very practical skill to have, having something to improve at gave Cael a sense of purpose. With Hermit’s help, he’d just taken a huge leap. What else could Hermit teach him?

“You said you’re a wanderer?” Cael asked. “How far have you travelled? How long?”

Hermit gave a soft chuckle. “Farther and longer than most. Home’s not far from here, though. It’ll be good to have a rest for a while. Travelling can be fun, but it’s important to have some place to hang your wings. Somewhere to travel away from, then back to.”

Cael frowned, slowly lowering the bow. “Doesn’t sound much like wandering to me.”

Hermit raised an eyebrow. “How not?”

“Isn’t it supposed to be… like… ‘journey before destination’ or something?”

Hermit cocked his head in agreement. “Of course. Any journey should be less about the where and more about the going. I think of wandering like a regular journey, with a _lot_ more distractions. The scenic route, you could say. But a journey _without_ a destination isn’t much of a journey at all. More like… being lost, I suppose.”

Hermit rubbed his beard, pondering that thought further. Cael looked at the ground and said nothing. Some strange emotion was building up inside him that he couldn’t identify. Was that… Regret? Shame? A bit of both?

No. Too close. He had to back away.

Hermit came back to himself. “What about you, kid? You’ve obviously travelled quite a ways. Where’s home for you? Where has your journey taken you?”

_No. Back away._

Cael tightened his grip on the bow. He turned away from Hermit, taking the last arrow from the bucket. He put all of his focus on the weapon in his hand, the arrow it carried, the target he aimed at. He pictured the giant’s ugly head inside the bulls-eye. He adjusted his grip, found his anchor point, shifted his stance. He breathed out slowly, closing one eye. This was all there was. This was all that mattered.

“I’m… sorry, kid,” Hermit was saying quietly. “That’s a hard life at your age, not having a home or a mother to-”

Something inside Cael snapped.

He moved without thinking, whirling around with the bow still drawn. Hermit gasped and ducked. The arrow passed through the space where his head had been mere instants before. It hit the concrete wall and fell to the floor.

The room was deadly silent. Hermit was saying something, still crouched on the floor, but Cael couldn’t hear him. What felt like every muscle in his body was clenching. His vision went red and clouded. His heart pounded in his ears. It was a struggle for him not to collapse to the floor.

In his mind, he was fighting a very different battle.

_“Spineless-”_

_“Useless-”_

_“Piece of-”_

_“Wish you’d’ve-”_

He scrunched his eyes shut as tight as they could go. _Inhale. Count to four. Exhale. Count to seven._

 _Her_ face was there. Taunting him.

_Inhale. Count to four. Exhale. Count to seven._

His body throbbed apart from his clenched muscles.

_Inhale. Count to four. Exhale. Count to seven._

Slowly, ever so slowly, he got the gate to close again. The damage had already been done, however. When he opened his eyes, his vision was blurry. His hands trembled. His head pounded like it was being hammered on by a screaming baby.

A small crowd had gathered around him, whispering to themselves. Hermit was still staring up at him, stunned. A very angry man in khakis and a polo was approaching him, pointing at him.

“Are you nuts?” the guy screamed at him. “You could’ve just killed him!”

The words registered slowly. _Could’ve… just…_

He had to get out. He had to get out now.

Cael grabbed his bag and fumbled with the zipper. The polo man was still shouting something. He found his three hundred remaining dollars and shoved them into the polo man’s hands. “I’m done for the day,” he muttered. “Thank you.” Then he walked past the whispering crowds, heading for the door.

“H-hey!” the man shouted at his retreating back. “You think you can just walk out of here? You just attempted murder!”

“Let him go, sir,” a quiet voice said to the man. “I… I understand. It’s okay.”

_No. You don’t. And it’s not._

He’d hoped the fresh night air might help clear his head. It didn’t help at all; the air was still and muggy, despite the dim sky. He knew that he needed to get far away from this place before any cops showed up looking for him. However, his flight instinct wasn’t working. He had no idea what time it was, couldn’t remember what part of Brooklyn he was in, and had no plans on where to go next.

So, he picked a direction and started walking. Though the crowds were modest, he kept his eyes downcast. The itch didn’t bother him. His growing hunger didn’t bother him. The tension in his muscles, the aching in his brain, even causing a scene that got people talking about him, that didn’t bother him. He’d dealt with that all before. That was his life. What bothered him was a question he tried not to ask himself. Something he could never answer even if he tried.

_Where has your journey taken you?_

The question plagued him even as he shuffled through the streets searching for a quiet place to lie down.

* * *

 

Lucy’s bathroom duties took her around fifty-one minutes. When she returned to her room, she found a scribbled post-it note from Carmen on the door. It took her another six minutes to decipher. It congratulated her for making such a splash earlier in the day with her fight, hoping that Miss Warren hadn’t been too harsh. After that, it asked if, in addition to the cleaning she’d agreed to do, she might also be willing to take some laundry down to the washroom. Carmen had signed it with a winky face and several x’s and o’s.

Lucy sighed, but gathered up the laundry Carmen had specified and took it down. Once that was started, she returned to their room and cleaned up as best she could, struggling to remember the proper places for a few of the hair products. Carmen was very particular about that. She left the room when she finished, ignoring the overwhelming desire to collapse in her bed. It was just as well that she did; she heard Carmen’s laugh and a male voice down the hall just as she went down the stairs.

At least now she had an excuse to go on patrol when she probably should have been studying or doing homework. It was the same paradox as earlier, when she’d trained in the detention room. By removing the choice, she felt liberated. No need to think. No need to worry.

Regardless, she still thought, and she still worried. Bella’s question still lurked in her mind, nagging at her. It demanded an answer. Not that she planned to go back to Bella’s office and _give_ her the answer; it was simply a question that she figured most competent people could probably answer.

Now that someone else had asked, Lucy realized she’d been avoiding asking it herself.

_Where will your journey take you?_

She walked out into the dimming Brooklyn streets, hands in her pockets and eyes downcast. The crowds were a bit heavier than they’d been early that morning, now that the weekend nightlife was starting up. Colorful signs and window displays for different clubs called out to her, offering a night of fun and escape. The people inside seemed like they were having plenty of both. Even if she were old enough, she was certain her journey would never take her there. It didn’t appeal to her.

_But what does? What do you want?_

It was a scary prospect. Bella’s words about her record were true. What college or employer would take her on after seeing it? She was a delinquent, regardless of the reason. A failure. The numbers were proof of that. The scars were proof of that.

Even setting that aside… College, a job… None of it appealed to her. If forced to pick, she couldn’t say what she would do. Part of her wished she could see into the future, just to reassure herself. Of course, she could easily find something horrible as well. Neither one would meet her hopes or dreams, for one simple reason: she _had_ no hopes or dreams.

Save for one. A dream she’d held for as long as she could remember. A dream she’d worked toward from a very young age, putting herself through trial after trial to achieve it. A childish wish that she’d never let go of, even after she’d accepted it wasn’t meant to be. A wish that still showed itself in her training and her doodles.

Lucy wanted to be a hero.

* * *

 

Cael wandered the streets of Brooklyn aimlessly. Though, he grudgingly accepted that “wandered” was the wrong term for it. That implied he had a destination. How had Hermit put it?

Lost. Cael was lost in Brooklyn.

He shivered, though not from cold. His entire body felt heavy, as did his mind. He really wanted to find a place to lie down and sleep. Not a motel, as was his custom. That was out of the question; he’d given all his money to the polo man at the range, including the emergency extra he usually kept in his bag. Not that he needed it. He didn’t need even a fraction of what he stole. Food and lodging were easy. The rest was just ash in the wind, used to find something to keep him numb. Sometimes, obviously, that didn’t always work.

Normally, after an episode like that, he wouldn’t be capable of such lucid thought for a while. The ensuing migraine drove everything else out. Not that he minded. Physical pain was easy to deal with. He knew how to ignore it, how to cope with it. The lack of coherent thought was a blessing in disguise.

Today, however, that wasn’t the case. He still thought, despite his best efforts. Hermit’s question lingered in his mind. It was something he figured most people could probably answer.

Not him. Never him. Not without ending himself.

_Where has your journey taken you?_

He passed onto a street with a few nightclubs on it. The weekend nightlife was starting up. Colorful signs and window displays for different clubs called out to him, offering a night of easy plunder. The people inside were so lost to the world. They’d never notice him robbing them blind. He didn’t doubt that he could sneak in without being seen. He kept walking. The itch was dormant. Without it, he felt no drive to steal anything.

_But without that… What are you? What does drive you?_

He had plenty of dreams. Becoming rich, becoming powerful, becoming a legend. The flavors differed, everything from some suited Wall Street wolf to some Batman-esque vigilante. Becoming someone important to prove everyone wrong about him.

Everyone was right about him, of course. He was a thief. A delinquent whose only joy could be found in snatching up what other people had, a life of endless envy. What could he ever amount to? All of those hopes and dreams were pointless. Their roots were in dark places; if he fulfilled them… That would mean returning to memories he’d sworn never to go back to.

Save for one. One shining memory he’d held for most of his life. Something that had lit his way through the dark, giving him hope where he’d had none. Something he’d thought he could do on some days, and on most gave up as impossible. A childish memory that he’d never let go of, even when he’d accepted that it would never happen. A memory that fueled his archery practice.

A promise that one day, Cael would be a hero.

* * *

 

Lucy had done her best to live up to her dream. She trained. She patrolled the city. When she found monsters or people in danger, she acted. She took lower grades, bathroom duty, and sat in detention rooms for hours at a time for it. It showed up in her doodles. It showed up in her dreams.

And yet, still, she didn’t feel like a hero.

 _Why, Mom?_ she asked silently. _You promised me… You said I could be one… I’ve done everything you said. What am I missing? Can it still happen? Have I failed?_

_And if I have… What do I do then? What does my future hold?_

* * *

 

Cael had done his best to prepare for that promise. As best as could be expected, anyway. He was an expert in stealth and evasion. He’d practiced archery, and was decent with a knife. He only stole from the rich. He repaid the debts he owed. He clung to that memory like a talisman, seeing it in dreams when he didn’t have nightmares.

And yet, it still seemed like he’d never get his chance to be a hero.

 _Why…?_ he asked silently, though he wasn’t sure who. _You promised… Was that just to give me false hope? Something to live for? Was it a lie?_

_And if it was… Why did I endure all I did? What was the point of my past?_

* * *

 

Lucy shook her head and looked hard at the sidewalk. This wasn’t helping her. She couldn’t bring herself to think about the future.

* * *

 

Cael swore and slapped himself. Those were dangerous thoughts. It could only hurt if he lingered in the past.

* * *

 

Lucy was jarred out of her musings when she walked directly into someone else.

She cried out and stumbled to the ground, clutching at her head. They’d slammed headlong into each other, neither one of them paying any attention. She cursed to herself softly. She had to be better than that; she couldn’t afford to be zoned out while she was on patrol.

She staggered to her feet and over to the other person, who muttered curses of their own. “Gods, I’m so sorry,” Lucy said, “I wasn’t paying attention, I’m so sorry-”

“It’s fine,” a baritone answered her. He proceeded to deflate his assurance by swearing several more times, using colorful combinations that took Lucy aback. “I’m fine,” he said again. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Here, I’ll help you up-”

“No, it’s fine. I’ve got it.” The boy got to his feet on his own. Lucy rose with him, intending to apologize again to his face.

Something made Lucy freeze in place.

The boy she’d walked into looked to be around her age. He was tall, at least two inches taller than she was. His uneven black hair and wrinkled, slightly dirty clothing gave him the look of a poorer person, though not a beggar. His face was sharp and angular, and his eyes were a vibrant shade of sky blue. There was something about them as she stared at him… Despite their bright color, they seemed… dull, somehow. Tired.

She tried to make sense of the sudden feeling she got in the pit of her stomach. It told her to avoid this boy, that he’d bring her nothing but trouble. Why was that? She’d dealt with thugs much scarier than him and not felt that way. _Something_ about him…

* * *

 

Cael had intended on simply walking away without saying anything else to the girl he’d run into. But as soon as he’d stood up and looked at her, something had made him freeze up.

She was around his age, about two inches shorter. Blonde hair in a ponytail, clean if baggy clothing, and a fit physique. Pretty, but in a really plain sort of way, nothing worth drooling over. Her face was rounded and delicate, though the scar on her cheek was an eyesore. Of all her features, he was most surprised by the amber shade of her eyes. He’d never seen that color before. There was an intensity to them that intimidated him, despite their height difference.

There was something else intense about her too. An itch he’d never felt anything close to in his time on the streets. It both excited and alarmed him. How could it be possible? A random girl of his age...

But there was something else accompanying that instinct. What was this sinking feeling in his gut? _Something_ about her…

The girl blinked and shifted, scratching at a scab on the back of her hand. “Um… Again, sorry about that. I wasn’t paying attention.”

Cael cleared his throat. “I should say sorry too. I wasn’t either.” As he spoke, he gave the girl another once over, trying to make sense of her.

Baggy clothes, disheveled ponytail. Avoiding eye contact. Still scratching at the scab. A few more insistent apologies. Calloused hands. Scarred forearms. A strange lump at her right hip.

_Antisocial. Doesn’t care for appearance or conversation. Several nervous tics. Used to hard labor, but careless. Anxious, self-punishing. People pleaser. Inattentive. Easy to scam, easy to tail, easy to pick._

_Dangerous._

Cael blinked, surprised. He ran his evaluation again with the same result. He frowned at her. She got flustered at that, but he paid that no mind. It seemed to contradict everything else he’d concluded about her. How could this apologetic nervous girl possibly be dangerous?

And yet, his gut instinct went along with it. It told him to turn around and walk away as fast as he could. To put as much distance between him and this girl as possible and forget she’d ever existed. It warned him that if he didn’t, he’d only find pain.

He’d only ever read one other person as _dangerous_ before. That assessment had been spot on. He almost did as his gut told him and ran.

But yet, his other instinct, his itch… It had never been wrong before. If it was correct now, then…

His mind warred with itself as the girl across from him stood there, watching him with wary, strange-colored eyes.

* * *

 

Lucy moved a hand to her hidden knife, her skin crawling. The way this boy was glowering at her, looking her up and down… She had to get away from him. She was certain of that.

“Um, well…” she started, trying not to seem too weirded out, “I’ll be going now. Sorry about that.”

The boy seemed to shake himself out of a stupor, blinking rapidly. “Uh, yeah. Sorry. Have a good night.”

“Yeah, you too.”

With that, they walked past each other. Lucy kept her hand close to her knife, a knot in her throat. She had to struggle not to hurry her walk. She waited until she got to the end of the block to look over her shoulder. She sighed in relief when the distant boy turned the corner. Then, she turned the corner as well, going the opposite direction.

Her earlier worries still lingered in the back of her mind, but not quite as intense as they once were. Whatever her future held, at least it wouldn’t have to contain _that_ weirdo.

* * *

 

Cael waited around the corner for a count of five, then turned back onto the street he’d run into the girl on. He crossed it and found an alley running parallel to the route he was certain she’d take. People who suspected he’d tail them usually always did that. Did they not realize that made them more predictable?

He was still conflicted about his decision. One part of him told him he’d severely regret this if he failed. The other told him that he’d never regret it if he succeeded.

Contradictory as that girl seemed, one thing was absolutely certain. She was carrying something on her worth a fortune. In all his years as a thief, he’d never been so certain of someone carrying so much wealth.

He couldn’t imagine what the item might be, or why _she_ of all people had it. That didn’t matter. All that mattered to him was that he take it from her. Partially for the challenge, partially for the reward. But mostly, because she was _dangerous._

His earlier worries lingered in his still throbbing head, but he could ignore them easier. If there was any way to strike at his past, it would be to strike at someone who reminded him of it. After that, he prayed he’d never have to deal with her again.


	7. Priceless

_ “Pain. So much pain, and I cannot remember why. My name, what is it? You, my foreign reflection, who are you? Can you stop the pain?” _

* * *

 

Cael knew in his gut that this would be one of his many decisions he later came to regret.

The blonde girl’s head turned again. He sidestepped behind a fat guy and cursed to himself. Slowly, he peeked past the guy’s arm, ready to turn and run. The blonde girl was looking ahead again, a little farther away from him. He grit his teeth and hustled forward, eying the crowd in front of him for a good hiding spot. A couple on his right caught his eye, so he eased towards them, ready to dart behind them if the girl started to turn again.

She was certainly keeping him on his toes. He’d only been following her for around twenty minutes, but she’d nearly spotted him almost a dozen times. Contrary to his initial assessment of her, she was _not_ easy to tail. Nor was she inattentive or careless. Her posture was now alert, her head on a swivel as she looked down every street and alley she passed. He’d had to drop a good distance back from her and reevaluate her a few more times. From _careless_ to _paranoid_ _…_ Easily the most wrong he’d been about a mark before.

Yet he still felt she was dangerous. On that count he was certain.

Not a minute went by where he didn’t consider backing out while he still could. His gut told him he’d only find pain if he got caught. The irresistible itch of the priceless item she was carrying kept him on her trail. He knew _where_ it was now, at least - she regularly brushed the odd lump on her right hip, sometimes clutching at it. Whatever it was, she was possessive of it. Why did someone like her have it anyway? Did it have something to do with how dangerous he felt she was? What was this girl’s story?

 _It doesn_ _’t matter,_ Cael thought. _Just find a way to get it and get the hell out of here._ He resumed his observation as best he could from a distance, piecing together the way the girl moved. More than any other, this pick needed to be flawless. He wouldn’t go in until he was certain of his plan.

The girl approached the next street corner. On the right side of the sidewalk, adjacent to the curb, there was a hot dog vendor’s stand sitting at an odd angle. A man in an apron was crouched beside it, peeking under it at a crooked wheel. Cael knew by now what would happen next. He hid on the far side of a bus stop shelter and peered around the edge to watch.

As he’d expected, the girl paused when she noticed the lopsided stand and walked over. She said something to the man on the ground that Cael couldn’t hear. After a short pause, the girl nodded and crouched beside the stand. She grabbed the underside and lifted with obvious effort. Once the crooked wheel was off the ground, the stand owner quickly went to work at it with a wrench.

Now might be a good time to make his move, but curiosity stayed his hand. Would it end the same as the others had?

After a time, the stand owner whooped and climbed back to his feet. The girl set the cart down and breathed heavily, stretching her arms. The owner shook her hand and started to reach in his pocket. She shook her head, not looking at him. She said something else as she backed away. With a short jerk of the hand in farewell, she turned away from the owner and kept walking the way she’d been going. The owner stared after her for a few seconds, hand still in his pocket, before shrugging and going back to his business.

Cael emerged and started after her again, frowning. Whenever she came across someone who looked in need of help, she stopped to provide it. First she’d taken some boxes into a store for an older woman. Later, she’d pointed lost tourists in the right direction. It took a few such incidents for Cael to pick up the pattern. At least one part of his initial analysis was correct: she was a people-pleaser. What perplexed him was that she never _capitalized_ on it. When someone tried to reward her, she left in a hurry. When they thanked her, she smiled at it, but rarely looked directly at them, shifting on her feet and scratching at her scab until she left. Then it was back to head-swiveling and walking in what Cael had determined was a random path through Brooklyn.

If she wasn’t after the reward or the praise… what _was_ she after?

That question bothered Cael, and he didn’t know why.

He shook his head and got back on task. He had a fairly solid plan in mind now. She was too alert to approach while walking. When helping somebody, though, she’d be completely distracted. He just had to stay on her and avoid getting spotted until she stopped again. Actually taking whatever the item was would be a different challenge, pressed as closely to her side as it was. Despite that, he was fairly confident he could manage it. He had an uncanny way with keeping a light touch while picking. If he didn’t know better, he’d be tempted to call it supernatural.

He could do this, so long as he stayed alert. There wasn’t any rush. If she went home before he could make the pick, all the better; he could slip in and grab it while she slept. This one theft might give him enough to turn his life around. He just had to be patient and wait for his moment.

Assuming that moment didn’t get him killed instead.

* * *

 

Lucy felt that something was off.

She released her hold on the heavy box just inside the door of a small bookstore. She grunted as she straightened up, her arms stiff from the exertion. The older, spectacled woman running the place showered her with praises, shaking her hand and talking about what a nice young lady she was. Lucy nodded along, only half listening. Her eyes kept flicking out to the masses of people on the sidewalk. When the woman tried to offer Lucy some money, she shook her head and quickly rejoined the crowd without so much as a farewell. Her uneasy feeling stuck with her.

It was distinctly separate from her earlier worries about the future. That, at least, was a purely mental problem. This sent chills up her back and kept her head on a swivel, checking behind her and down every alley and street she passed. That wasn’t uncommon behavior for her; her patrol was always thorough, to spot any trouble she might otherwise miss. But she never did it with such urgency, with the creeping suspicion that at any moment, something bad would happen.

She’d been trained to listen to her instincts. For the last twenty-four minutes, they’d said she was being followed.

Lucy looked over her shoulder and scanned the crowd again. With how haphazard her route had been, it wasn’t likely anyone would simply happen to be going the same way as her for very long. She was looking for one face, in particular, but didn’t see anyone remotely like it. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. Still the feeling did not fade.

She faced forward again with a frown. It could be the long day getting to her. The aches of her training and the mental stress of the last few hours made her want to fall on a bench and pass out. Lack of sleep could make a person delusional. She’d just recently heard some distant sounds that her brain wanted to think were monster roars. Probably just car horns echoing weirdly. When she heard screaming was when she would get seriously concerned. Assuming, of course, that she didn’t start hallucinating those too.

She hoped not. Sleep brought enough of them already.

No, the simple fact of the matter was that her instincts weren’t perfect. She knew that all too well. Sometimes thugs tried to follow her for one reason or another, but they were always comically easy to pick out. A monster trying to follow her would have attacked already; they’d never cared about witnesses before. Why would they when almost no one else could see them? Aside from that, there was no one else that would have reason to follow her. She wasn’t anything worth noticing.

Except… there was a piece of advice she’d been given, on a night years past that pained her to remember. It still haunted her, cropping up on nights when she went out on patrol. It came to her now, whispering hoarsely in her mind, exactly as it had first sounded from dying lips.

_“Don’t let them find you.”_

Lucy had always assumed it meant monsters. That seemed to contradict what she’d been taught. She couldn’t defend people from them if she hid from them like a coward. She’d started interpreting it more literally. _They_ never found _her_ , _she_ found _them._ Something about that felt wrong, but what else could it mean if not monsters? What else was there to hide from?

 _Others_ _… others like me and Mom?_ _If they even exist_ _…_ she thought grimly. _That Richard man this morning could see monsters, but he didn_ _’t seem… like us. Maybe he’s some weird exception. But… If someone like me, someone with my skills attacked people…_

She shivered, not from cold. She refused to follow that line of thought further. There was no reason to, not unless such a thing came to pass. She brushed her hand against her hip for comfort. She couldn’t stay on patrol like this. She needed some rest. It’d be best if she-

Lucy stopped in her tracks, her heart clenching. She touched her right hip again.

Nothing.

Her breath started to quicken. She pulled up her shirt to check her waistband. She checked at her feet. She even checked her left hip, profane as it was. Still nothing. Not a single sign of shimmering gold.

Her knife was gone.

The crowds around her seemed to slow even as her breathing got faster. She turned around and shoved her way past people, looking frantically around the ground. She had to have dropped it somewhere close. She’d had it a mere minute earlier. Without it, she felt worse than naked, completely vulnerable. If a monster were to attack her now, she’d be finished. But more than that, it was her last most valued possession, her last tie to her mother. It almost never left her side. She was admittedly paranoid about dropping it. She couldn’t have just _lost it_ , she would never have let that happen, it had to be here, it had to be…

A sudden suspicion snapped her head up. Her eyes landed on a scrawny form quickly walking the way she’d come from. She caught a glimpse of short black hair as it moved between groups of people. Even from behind, she knew who it was. The boy she’d been watching for.

Hot anger started to rise in Lucy’s chest as she started after him. _“Hey!”_ she shouted. _“You!”_

Any doubts she’d had about the boy’s guilt vanished when he broke into a sprint. She swore and ran after him, dodging between indignant pedestrians. Her gut had been right, the boy was nothing but trouble. How he’d known about her knife, how he’d tailed her without her knowing, how he’d swiped her knife without her feeling him, none of those questions mattered now. All that mattered was getting her knife back.

And making him pay for taking it.

* * *

 

Cael’s joy at success was short-lived. Panic replaced it when he heard her yelling. He had no illusions that she’d been shouting at someone else. So he did what came naturally: he ran.

But though joy had become panic, his shock was still strong as ever as he weaved through the crowd. Several times he almost ran into people or streetlights. Normally fear was an excellent way to clear his head, but not even a monster chase could’ve kept his mind from wandering to what was now hastily shoved in his front pocket. Part of it stuck out, its shimmer drawing his eye away from finding a path.

Why, in the name of every god and demon above and below, did that girl have a knife made of _solid gold?_ He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that. Where had she gotten it? What purpose did it serve? A decoration? Cael knew that gold was too soft to make good tools, much less good weapons. But considering that… If it really was gold, shouldn’t it have weighed _much_ more than it did?

He chanced a glance backwards, hoping he’d at least gained some ground on the girl. To his alarm, she had gained on him, and was still gaining on him steadily. Her running form was much more refined than his, her stride quick, almost graceful. The look on her face was anything but. Even at this distance, he could see fury in her eyes. Those intense amber eyes. They burned into his. They sent a clear message. He’d seen its like before.

It scared him more than any monster had. _Dangerous_ seemed an understatement.

Cael looked back ahead and pushed himself as hard as he could go. He didn’t think about which way he ran. He didn’t have any tricks in his backpack that would help him against a human. His was quick, but the girl was obviously fitter than he was. His only hope would be to lose her in the crowd, or that she was a better endurance runner than a sprinter.

But yet, despite straining what felt like every muscle in his legs, he didn’t feel fast. His limbs felt sluggish, like he was trying to run through molasses. The people around him seemed that way too. His heart was hammering, his breath heavy, his brow dripping with sweat. His backpack felt much heavier than normal. Was it fear or exhaustion doing this to him? He couldn’t decide. Adrenaline, coursing as it was, wasn’t enough to overcome it. He’d thought himself in better shape than _this._ Apparently he was limited to one life-threatening chase per day. He silently cursed the giant, and himself. He and his stupid itch. Why hadn’t he just left?

As Cael passed an alley on his right, something seized his backpack and yanked him into it. He spun around and raised his hands, but grips like iron took his wrists and slammed him against the brick wall. The blonde girl was inches away from him, completely livid. Cael gave a token effort to free himself, but she placed her forearm against his neck, still clutching his wrist like a vice.

“What’s the hurry, _thief?_ _”_ she hissed at him.

“Ah,” he choked out, flashing her a smirk. “No hurry, just-” he tried to swallow past her arm, “just out for a run. You?” She scowled at him and glanced down where the tip of her knife poked out of his pocket. Now would probably be good time to shut up, but Cael pressed his luck. “Before you ask… ah… that _is_ a knife in my pocket. I’d… be lying if I said I was happy to see you.”

That just made the girl angrier. “Give it back,” she growled.

Her glare burned into Cael. It didn’t take an expert at reading people to get the message. There was no idle threat behind her words. Once, it may have scared him. But now that the chase was over, his panic had vanished. Rising in its place was spite.

The gate cracked open.

He’d had her wrong a dozen times tonight, but now he saw what she hid behind those nervous tics and helpful actions. Someone who presented a pristine image when everyone was watching. Someone powerful, who used her weight to shove around anyone that wronged her, maybe even people that didn’t, then used her good reputation to justify it. It couldn’t ever be her fault, not when she was a paragon of virtue. No, the ones who accused her must be lying. Or they’d deserved it. If she was deluded enough, maybe she believed that for herself, too. Cael knew more than enough people like that, who boasted of bringing warmth to the world while watching it burn. The worst kinds of bullies.

Maybe this girl saw herself as a hero, helping random people as she did. Cael could only see the anger in her eyes, a threat as familiar to him as breathing. It brought him to days he couldn’t entirely leave behind. The feeling of being powerless. It brought _her_ face to his mind.

Cael hated the girl for it.

He matched her glare with one of his own. “Fine,” he said. “Take it.”

She kept her glare on him and released his right hand, keeping her arm against his throat. Cael kept his hand against the wall, not moving an inch. Slowly, she started to reach for the gleaming blade sticking out of his pocket. He waited until her hand was an inch away from its tip.

He jerked his hip. The girl cried out as the point of the blade slashed her hand. She instinctively let go of him to clutch at her bleeding palm. Cael lunged forward and shoved the girl with all his might. She stumbled and hit the other wall as he turned to sprint deeper into the alley. The crowds were practically non-existent at the street where it led, but with enough of a lead Cael hoped he could loose her amid the maze of buildings.

His second wind didn’t stop him from feeling sluggish as he had before. He’d barely made it halfway through the long alley before the girl yelled and tackled him from behind.

Cael hit the pavement hard, but it only dazed him. The girl tried to pin him down, but he rolled before she could, slipping from her grip. He stumbled to his feet, just in time to see her first punch coming for him.

He rolled with it as the heel of her palm hit his cheek. He grunted and staggered back, dropping to one knee. God _damn_ she hit hard. He reached into the gate willingly, pulling forth his old mental tricks. The pain faded to a dull throbbing as he stood back up. The girl seemed surprised by that.

Cael almost managed a smirk. He knew how to take a hit.

* * *

 

Lucy couldn’t remember a time she’d ever been angrier at another person. She hadn’t wanted to resort to violence with the boy; the first punch had been instinctual. It surprised her when he got back to his feet. Her hits had downed men much larger than he was. She’d been prepared to apologize to him when she realized he was trying not to smirk at her. That brought her anger raging back.

She had her hands raised and her feet apart in a ready stance, but she didn’t move to hit him again. She just kept her glare on him, watching for him to run again. “Give. It. _Back._ _”_

“I told you. _Take it,_ _”_ the boy said.

Lucy growled under her breath. “It’s _mine._ _”_

He gave a humorless laugh. “Right, and I own a diamond encrusted sword. One thief to another, maybe don’t go carrying it around in public. Someone might snatch it from you. Right now, I have it, so it may as well be mine.”

Lucy clenched her hands. “It _is_ mine.”

“Sure. I’m sure you just found it laying around. Or maybe you _received it_ ,” the boy made finger quotes, “from some random person on the street you helped out of the goodness of your heart. Cut the hero act, I can see through it.”

His accusation should have angered her. His mention of her helping people should have too, as he’d just admitted to stalking her since they first ran into each other. But they didn’t. Her anger actually started deflating at his words. Even the sight of her knife in his pocket with her blood on its tip barely angered her anymore. Her primary feeling now was doubt.

 _Act_ _… He was watching me the whole time…_ she thought. _Did he see something I didn_ _’t?_

She grimaced, but said nothing. The boy raised an eyebrow. “What? Not gonna deny it?”

“Just… Please, give my knife back,” she said. “It’s important to me.”

“Important enough that you’d beat me for it?” he growled, a surprising amount of venom in his voice. She turned her glare to the ground and said nothing. The boy continued, “You probably got it cause you’re rich or something. Think you can have whatever you want if you smile pretty and act nice, then shove your weight around. You don’t deserve it. Try living a day of your life on the bottom and see how quickly it all changes.” He didn’t try to hide his bitter contempt.

It felt like all of her life had been on the bottom. She devoted herself to lifting others out of it so they didn’t have to stay there with her. But still, she said nothing.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” the boy said. “You want it back so bad, you’ll have to-”

A chilling sound echoed through the narrow alley.

Both of their heads spun to the street where it had come from. Every muscle in Lucy’s body tensed. She knew that sound. When it came again, louder and deeper, her heart sank.

A monster’s roar.

“Oh, fuck me,” the boy muttered.

Before she could tell him to run, an explosion blew them off their feet.

It felt like being hit by a bus. Lucy barely registered hitting a wall. Her vision faded in and out as she tried to stop the world from spinning. A high pitched ringing assaulted her ears. Bits of rubble pelted her as she staggered to one knee, resisting the urge to give in and lie down.

_Get up! Monster! Get up!_

She shook off her stupor and made it to her feet. The alley was filled with smoke that made her squint and cough. A wall had collapsed, leaving a pile of rubble blocking one exit. Flames flickered orange through the haze, spreading through the building whose wall had fallen. Something massive moved within the smoke near the other exit. A gust of wind cleared the smoke enough for her to get a good look. Her heart pounded at the sight.

She’d seen its like once before. Nine feet tall, rippling with muscle, with pointed teeth and tattoos on its massive arms. Its right palm still smoked from where it had thrown its explosive. It laughed as it approached the thief, who was huddled against the opposite wall and staring at the monster in horror.

She dimly remembered the name: a Laistrygonian.

It laughed, a deep and guttural sound that sent shivers down her spine. “Found you, hero!” it said to the thief. “You sneaky! But I eat you now! And I get dessert too!” It turned its beady eyes on Lucy. “Hmm? Can see me? Are you tasty hero too?”

Lucy didn’t think too hard about why it called them both heroes, or why the boy could see it too. She was straining to recall her lessons on Laistrygonians, hoping there might be something that could help her out of this mess.

 _“They’re allergic to starch,”_ her memory said. _“Believe it or not, a potato gun would be the most effective weapon. That or throwing one down its throat. Barring that, you should never fight one on one with a Laistrygonian. Never try to take one in a melee fight. And NEVER try to fight one in an enclosed space.”_

It wasn’t reassuring. She had no potatoes handy, would have to fight it close up, in an enclosed space, and probably wouldn’t be able to expect much help from the thief. Still she assumed a ready stance and met its gaze with all the defiance she could muster. “You want to eat us? You’ll have to beat me first.”

The giant laughed at her. “Good, more hero for me! Maybe have leftover for Babycakes!”

It leaned toward her and sniffed. Lucy noted that it wasn’t the first time something had sniffed her today. Just like with the kid she’d saved from the bully, it quickly became confused and sniffed again. “You…” it cocked its head and scratched its chin. “You smell funny. Tasty, but funny. Why you smell funny?”

Lucy briefly wondered if she should feel insulted or not. _I smell funny?_ What was it about her smell today? She’d remembered deodorant, hadn’t she?

The giant didn’t ponder that for long. It straightened up and started towards her with an evil grin. “Not matter! You tasty anyway! I beat you!”

Lucy grit her teeth and broke into a dash directly at the giant. It grunted in surprise to see her on the attack. Her best chance to beat this thing would be to end it quickly, before it could get hold of her. She reached for her hip, eyes on a weak spot above its knee-

Her hand met bare skin as she reached the giant’s feet. Panic flashed through her. All the world seemed to slow as she barely managed to dodge its first downward blow. Its fist cracked the pavement where she’d been instants before.

“My knife!” she called to the thief as she dodged another punch. The giant roared and swung again. It seemed to slow as it approached her, and she ducked it easily. Her well honed battle reflexes made even the fastest fights seem slow to her. Normally, she’d take the opening to counter attack, but with no weapon, it would do no good. She couldn’t dodge the thing’s attacks forever. She needed her weapon to survive this.

When she looked over at the thief, she was appalled to see him still on the ground, staring between her and the giant. He blinked as her eyes met his. “W-what?” he shouted back.

 _“My knife!”_ she practically screamed as the giant tried to grab hold of her. “Give me my knife!”

It took another few frustrating seconds for her words to reach him. He pushed himself to his feet quickly and dug the knife out of his pocket. He raised it up to show it to her, despite a shake of her head in protest. The giant noticed and turned away from her, growling at the sight of it.

“Bad knife,” the giant said, starting towards the trembling thief. “I break it!”

The thief started running, trying to get around the giant. Lucy ran behind the monster and drove an elbow into the back of its knee. It roared, more in anger than pain, and turned in mid swing to target her instead of the thief. Though its swing was skewed, it still made contact with the thief, knocking him into the intact wall with a grunt. Lucy’s knife slipped out of his hand and clattered across the asphalt.

Lucy had an opening to dart between the thing’s legs and grab her knife. But to her alarm, when she dodged its skewed swing, it didn’t stay focused on her. It turned back to the thief, who was pulling himself off the wall with a dazed expression. The giant rolled its right shoulder and raised its right arm high above its head. The thief snapped back to reality just in time to see a massive fist coming towards him.

She saw it all in slow motion. The realization. The fear. Most hauntingly, the weary acceptance. All within a fraction of a second on the thief’s face. She’d seen him run, felt him struggle with her. He wasn’t fast enough to dodge, and he knew it.

He accepted his imminent death.

Lucy moved only a few steps before she dived at him, hands outstretched as the fist inched towards him. Luckily, he weighed next to nothing. He fell sideways and toppled to the ground as the fist caught her lower left leg and slammed it to the pavement.

The world went deathly silent.

Lucy lay where she’d landed, staring through bleary eyes at the blood on her right hand. The color of everything seemed washed out, for some reason. That was odd. She was shaking badly. There was pain, but it felt dull and distant. That was odd too. Shouldn’t it hurt more? Shouldn’t she care more? How very odd. Perhaps it wasn’t so bad. No, no need to worry. Maybe all she needed was that nap she’d considered earlier.

The thief sat up to look at her with horrified eyes. “J-jesus,” he muttered. “Why…”

She didn’t bother looking. It couldn’t be that bad. It didn’t hurt all that much. It would go away with a quick nap. He shouldn’t be worried. Why was he…? Oh right, the giant. That wasn’t a big problem though, once he had some help.

“My knife,” she told him firmly. “Get my knife. You can use that to kill him. Monsters are weak to it.”

She wanted to curse the boy out when he looked at her with confusion. “I-what? Kn-knife?” She could barely hear him, or anything else. Why didn’t he speak up?

“Yes, my knife, you idiot!”

“Knife… no, I can’t…” he looked with fear at the giant, who had paused to consider something on the ground by her slightly throbbing leg.

She groaned and grabbed hold of his ankle. “You big baby. Here. You can do it. Go be brave.”

It took her some effort to find her power, with how sleepy she was. Once she did, she wasn’t shy about sharing. She felt overpowering fear from him and dismissed it as silly. He’d have nothing to worry about with her help. She’d had many lectures on the proper use of this so called “ability” of hers. If there was ever a time to use it, it was now. She didn’t need it while napping anyway. The thief could handle it.

“Go on now,” Lucy said clearly as she closed her eyes. “Beat him up. Try to keep it down, will you? I’m gonna try to sleep now…” Gods this rubble covered pavement was comfy. The nearby fires kept her warm, too. The perfect spot for an evening nap.

Part of her screamed that she shouldn’t let herself sleep. That part quickly faded as the rest of her did, sinking deep into a dreamless void.

* * *

 

Cael had no words to describe his horror.

He’d been certain he was about to die. Watching that giant’s fist inch towards him, he’d been terrified at first. He’d found some measure of acceptance in the same instant. Perhaps it would give him some peace, if it didn’t hurt too much.

Then, the stupid blonde girl had shoved him out of the way and taken the hit.

He’d seen blood before. He’d seen violence before. He’d never seen anything like that before.

He couldn’t look at her mangled leg for more than a few seconds without gagging. The giant inspected it with an almost hungry look, mercifully ignoring him for the moment. Blood covered its fist. So much blood.

Alarmingly, the girl hadn’t screamed. She didn’t even seem pained. She simply looked him with a glazed expression and mumbled something incoherent. He’d picked out the word _knife._ She’d been yelling for it earlier. That didn’t make any sense. Knives couldn’t hurt monsters, he knew that from experience.

Yet… The way she’d moved while trying to distract the giant… She’d clearly done this before. He’d never met someone else who could see monsters, let alone fought them… Did her knife harm them somehow? Was that why he felt it to be so valuable, even when it probably wasn’t real gold?

The giant was distracted. The knife was out in the open. Yet he couldn’t do it. He’d accepted death, but seeing what happened to the girl had reawakened his panic. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t move. Fear ruled him as it hadn’t for years.

Then the girl mumbled and grabbed his ankle.

A surge of energy passed into him. With it came a new feeling, one he was unaccustomed to, but welcomed with open arms.

Courage.

It spread through him like a wildfire. It didn’t erase his fear, but it eclipsed it enough that it no longer mattered. It drove him to act in spite of himself, to _do something_ rather than lie down and die. When he looked at the giant, it was now with contempt instead of terror.

The girl mumbled again and went limp, her hand slackening around his ankle. He prayed to anyone who was listening that she hadn’t just died in front of him. Not before he could repay her.

He would repay her. He would kill the giant. He _had_ to kill the giant and get her out of here. Somehow.

Cael scrambled to his feet and darted for the gold knife. He snatched it off the ground and flipped it in his hand as he turned toward the giant. The monster was still pondering the girl’s bloody leg. For the briefest of moments, he considered turning and running while it was distracted. He had the knife. He could get away.

Against his every inborn instinct, he charged directly at the giant, raising the knife high. It didn’t notice him coming until he drove the blade directly into its back.

If the explosion had rattled him, it was nothing compared to the deafening scream of the giant. It obliterated all coherent thought. His hands flew to his ears uselessly. He gave a cry of pain that he couldn’t hear. He could barely muster enough willpower to take a step back. When the giant began to thrash in pain, Cael could not dodge the flailing arm that caught him full in the side.

He felt the bones in his right arm crack as he hit a wall and slumped to the ground. The pain barely registered through the monster’s continuing screams. It kept thrashing and flailing wildly, putting more cracks in the pavement and rubble around it. Luckily, it hadn’t hit the girl again, and was steadily stumbling away from her.

What a small comfort that was. With a wound like that, she wouldn’t survive the hour anyway.

Cael thought he might have chuckled softly to himself. He wasn’t sure; he could barely hear anything anymore. He’d thought himself accustomed to pain… Oddly, it didn’t bother him as much he thought it should.

He’d figured some stupid decision would get him killed someday. No other end seemed fitting for him. Today, it had been a string of terrible choices. Tailing the girl. Taking her knife. Refusing to give it back. All of that paled in comparison to last one. All of it would have been forgiven if he’d done what came naturally to him and ran with his loot when the giant was distracted. Instead, he’d charged it like an idiot, for all the good it did. All he’d done was piss it off.

It would have been convenient for him to blame the girl for that. Whatever probably-supernatural shit she’d done to him with her last conscious moments had made him stupid enough to attack a monster. But in truth, he would have been stupid enough to do it anyway. All she’d done was make him brave enough to actually do it.

True, he could have ran while it was distracted by the girl’s wound. It probably would have let him go in favor of the helpless prey. The girl was probably dead anyway. But when the moment had come, he hadn’t been as callous as he’d thought he was. He hadn’t been able to abandon her, even if he hated her. Not after what she did.

For that one instant, he’d felt a glimmer of what it might be like to be a real hero.

 _Is that what you meant?_ he asked no one in particular. _This one moment of not running away? Heh_ _… Figures._

That was his lot in life, getting the scraps. He’d just have to make do with it.

Cael gave an effort to stand, but the burst of energy the girl had given him was gone. He could barely make himself sit up. Coughing from the ash and smoke pained him. His right arm hung at an odd angle.The giant was still screaming and thrashing, trying to reach the knife still buried in its back, giving off smoke. Either it would stop at some point, or would keep flailing until the entire alley came down on them.

The former came true. The giant finally managed to get the knife out of its back and toss it aside. It stalked toward Cael with its teeth bared, though in pain or anger, he couldn’t tell. It said something that he assumed was scary and threatening. He still couldn’t hear anything but the high-pitched echo of its screams.

It would kill him now. Painfully, probably. Fear started to creep back into him. He couldn’t accept it this time, not while he had an outstanding debt. He couldn’t go while the girl was still there, bleeding out because of him. He cursed her name, whatever it was. If only she hadn’t been so stupid. If only she’d gone for the knife instead of him.

If only she’d just let him die.

The giant paused. It looked in the direction of the clear alley exit, where a small crowd had gathered to watch the fire. It didn’t seem to care about them though. It sniffed the air a few times, like it had done to the girl. Again, its face turned confused. It probably made that face a lot, but what was it this time? Cael squinted through the smoke to the opposite side of the perpendicular street. Something over there, something shimmering in the air…

They were both equally surprised when a jet of water blew the giant off its feet.

It landed in the rubble with force that shook the ground. The water jet continued to push into the monster, keeping it pinned to the pavement with alarming force. Something dark passed through the jet at high speed, heading right for the giant. When it reached the monster, the rushing water splashed to the ground. Cael blinked, somehow even more surprised.

Standing on the giant’s chest was a tall, black-haired man in what looked to be his early thirties. Despite having seemingly come from the jet of water, he seemed completely dry. At first glance, he could have been any random person off the street, dressed in jeans and a faded orange t-shirt. In his right hand, he held a sword with a blade of shimmering bronze, the point of which was driven directly into the giant’s right eye.

Cael shook his head softly. That scream had done more to his brain than he’d thought. That, or today was just the weirdest day of all time.

The giant’s body slowly crumbled into yellow dust. The sword disappeared from the man’s hand; he shoved something in his pocket that looked like a pen. He turned and surveyed the carnage with a grim expression. When he saw the girl’s body, his face paled, and he ran over to her, shouting something Cael couldn’t hear.

The crowd watching at the alley’s entrance was getting restless. The man glanced up at them in irritation as he crouched by the girl’s side. He raised one hand and snapped his fingers. The resulting _crack_ was loud enough that Cael could barely hear it. A thin haze spread among the crowd, and many of their worried expressions vanished. Little by little, they shook their heads and walked away, muttering to themselves.

When the crowd split apart, it revealed a short boy standing near the very back that darted forward as soon as a gap was clear. At the black-haired man’s insistence, the boy ran directly for Cael. He crouched next to Cael and started examining his injuries with a nervous tremble to his hand, asking Cael questions he couldn’t hear. Cael barely noticed what the kid’s face looked like. No, what captured his attention were the thick, woolen pants the kid seemed to be wearing. Except he wasn’t wearing pants. The brown fur went all the way down to his feet. Or should he say _hooves._

 _I_ _’d really like to wake up now,_ Cael thought wearily.

The boy sniffed Cael. He seemed surprised by whatever he smelled. He called something out to the black-haired man. Cael peered around the strange goat-boy at where the man was attending to the girl. He had a canteen pressed to her lips, making her drink something. Her face was so pale. There was no way she could still be alive, right? What did this guy expect to do for her? Then again, he had rode a jet of water to stab a giant in the eye…

 _“…you walk?”_ a very faint voice seemed to say to him.

Cael looked back at the goat-boy, who was looking at him expectantly. He gave the slightest of nods. The boy took him under his good arm and helped him to his feet. He nearly fell flat on his face tripping over a loose brick.

_“…you’re a…come sooner… you to camp…”_

He could only pick out snippets of what the boy was saying. He barely cared. He was so damn beat. He really wanted to take a nap. Or to wake up from his current one. Whatever his current state of consciousness, he wanted to be the opposite.

“Knife,” he suddenly remembered, spotting the shimmering gold laying next to the wall a short distance away. The kid said something and tried to pull him along, but he tugged in the direction of the weapon. “Knife,” he insisted weakly. The kid finally gave in and helped him limp over to it. The kid retrieved it and handed it to Cael, then insistently tugged him out of the alley. He slipped it into his belt with numb fingers.

Cael barely questioned where he was being taken. He didn’t question it when the half-goat boy led him to a massive carriage parked in the middle of the street, pulled along by what looked like winged horses. He didn’t question when he was helped inside the carriage and laid on one of the plush seats that seemed longer than the carriage did on the outside. He didn’t question when the black-haired main laid the blonde girl across from him, her leg wrapped in blankets and bandages already soaked red. He barely registered when the carriage suddenly lurched into the dark sky, speeding east at what seemed like the speed of sound. None of that mattered to him. It didn’t matter what happened next, as long as he got to sleep.

But for a short while, his gaze lingered on the blonde girl’s face. It stuck in his mind as his eyes fluttered closed.

She was _dangerous._ He still felt that. He still hated her for reminding him of _her._ No doubt she hated him for taking her knife. There had been straight murder in her eyes before the giant showed up.

 _She had her chance,_ he thought weakly before lapsing into the sweet release of sleep. _She could have let the giant kill me._

 _But she didn't._ _She almost died pushing me out of the way. She might still die. She risked herself… to save me. Someone she hated. She saved me..._

_…Why?_


	8. To Be a Hero

**Eleven Years Ago**

* * *

 

Lucy drew.

She scrunched up her face in focus. Her pencil moved across the paper slowly, making the last touches to her doodle. Her hand twitched, swerving a line. She sighed and erased it, careful to avoid the already done parts of the drawing. When it was gone as best as she could get it, she started the line over again. This one would be perfect.

Her last five tries lay on the dining room table and floor, each with a half-done doodle of a big snake monster. Each one looked wrong in some way, mostly in how bad the outlines were. The lines always looked neat in cartoons. Hers didn’t look anything like that, all squiggly and messy. This time, she was gonna do it right. She used a ruler for straight lines and a weird half-circle thing for the curves. What had Mom called it? A tractor? Yeah, that sounded right.

Lucy used the tractor to draw the curves on the snake monster’s teeth. It had six heads, so she had to draw a lot of teeth. This kind of monster popped up in her mind a lot lately, for some reason. She felt like she couldn’t draw anything else until she had a perfect drawing of this monster. Hopefully that would be soon. There were a lot of other monsters she wanted to try, like a dragon, or a giant.

Today looked like her lucky day. She put away the tractor and brushed off the paper, smiling with pride at her drawing. It made the snake monster look a bit cute, which seemed wrong, but there was something scary about it too, like the monsters in the stories Mom told her at bedtime. It was the best drawing she’d ever done.

Lucy bounced in her chair excitedly. “Look! Look! It’s perfect!” She turned around, drawing in hand. “It’s…”

She trailed off. She was alone in the room.

Her chest and throat felt tight, and she didn’t know why.

She slowly turned back to the table and set her drawing down. She almost picked up her pencil and started another one, but that didn’t seem fun anymore. She scooted the chair back and hopped down, heading towards her room. She needed something else to do.

Lucy passed an open window in the hallway. She could hear other kids screaming and laughing down the block. A lot of kids from her class lived near here. They played together a lot after school until it got dark out. That wouldn’t be for a while; it was only four thirty. They liked to play tag or king of the hill. Sometimes they got some sticks and played knights and dragons. It looked like a lot of fun.

The other kids didn’t like Lucy. She didn’t know why. She never did anything to them. She just doodled by herself at recess. They didn’t pick on her or anything, they just stayed away from her. She never bothered asking to play with them. They’d just tell her to leave.

She sniffed hard and frowned, stomping towards her room. _I don’t need them. I can have fun all by myself._

Lucy was used to playing by herself. She had to be her own best friend. It had always been that way. Always…

Her room was small and pretty empty except for her bed, dresser, and a box for her small collection of toys. She smiled again as she picked out one of her two foam swords. Next, she grabbed a box she’d cut eye holes in and scribbled on to make it look like a knight’s helmet. It didn’t fit with her ponytail, so she took it out, letting her hair fall to her shoulders. Lastly, she grabbed her pillow with her left hand. Everything she needed to start her quest.

She put one foot forward and raised her sword to the ceiling, giving a war cry. She was now Lady Lucia, brave knight, slayer of monsters and destroyer of evil. She ran out into the hallway and thrust her sword, stabbing an imaginary zombie. Another slash killed a goblin. She raised her shield to block a blow from a charging ogre before she cut his head off.

Through the kitchen and dining room she fought, giving war cries with every slash and stab. She leaped onto the couch in the living room and kept fighting, trying to climb higher through the dark castle. She had to reach the top to save the kidnapped princess. She could see the monsters so clearly. She could hear the clashing metal and roaring enemies, feel the cool air of the creepy fortress.

A snake woman’s acid nearly burned away her shield, so she tossed it to the floor. A giant’s thrown explosives knocked her off the couch, but she got back up and kept fighting. The princess needed help. Lady Lucia would not fail her.

She returned to the hallway, panting hard and covered in sweat. But it was no longer the hallway; it was a throne room. There, beside the throne! The captured princess, dressed in white, standing motionless by the side of a figure dressed in all black armor, with a black crown on his head.

This was it. Her greatest quest’s finale.

The dark king rose from his throne and walked toward her, a black sword forming in his hand. Lucia raised her own blade, ready for the showdown. She could do this. She was the hero of all the people in the land. She would save them all.

The dark king paused to throw off his cape and remove his helmet. Lucia prepared to strike. He looked back up at her with a smile. He looked like… looked like…

Lucy was brought out of her fantasy by a soft sound coming from the closed door to her right. That was Mom’s room. She’d been in there for almost an hour now, hadn’t she? Lucy lowered her sword and took off her box helmet, approaching the door slowly. She pressed her ear to the wood. The sound quieted, but Lucy had still heard it.

It sounded like crying.

Fighting the dark king could wait.

She knocked on the door, then slowly pushed it open. “Mom?” she asked.

Mom was sitting in her bed, her legs folded under her. Her blonde hair was down, and her shirt and jeans were wrinkled. Lucy was often told she looked just like her Mom. Except for their eyes, of course. Lucy didn’t like her amber ones. Mom’s gray ones were a lot prettier.

Normally, at least. Right now, they were red and wet.

She looked up as Lucy walked in. “Ah, Lucy,” she said with a forced smile, shoving something under her pillow. “What’d you need?”

It was no mystery what Mom was trying to hide. She cried at it a lot and always tried to hide it. Lucy had snuck into Mom’s room one evening to see what it was. Finding a framed picture of Lucy from her third birthday - when she’d been a lot smaller, chubbier, and wearing a glittery party hat - had confused Lucy. She could only barely remember that night… _something_ had happened, something Mom wouldn’t talk about. It must have been bad to make her cry at Lucy’s picture from that night. She looked that way at Lucy herself sometimes, when she thought Lucy wasn’t looking. Guilt filled Lucy every time she saw Mom choke back tears, like she was doing now.

It had to be Lucy’s fault, somehow. Mom was crying because of her.

Lucy entered the room and climbed on the bed. “Mom, why are you crying?”

Mom gave her another fake smile. She wasn’t very good at those. “It’s nothing, Luce. Just… go back to playing, okay?”

“But I wanna help,” Lucy insisted, crawling closer to Mom. “I don’t like it when you cry.”

“…I know, Lucy. Mom’s… just going through a lot, right now, okay? It’s not something you can help with. I have to do it myself.”

Lucy frowned and crossed her arms. “No you shouldn’t! Even Hercules needed help on his trials! Theseus needed help to get through the maze! You told me that! You said that no hero can do it all by themselves!”

Mom looked down at her hands and sniffed. “…I’m no hero, Lucy. I… You shouldn’t compare me to them. The weight they carried… I couldn’t… I can’t…” She pressed her hands to her face and cried softly.

Lucy almost started crying too. She couldn’t remember Mom’s real smile anymore. Why did Mom always have to be so sad?

She had to do something. She had to make Mom happy again. That was what a real hero would do.

Lucy crawled up to Mom and hugged her tightly. It took a few seconds for Mom to return it. She kept crying and sniffing, but softer now. She rubbed Lucy’s back softly and rocked her back and forth. It seemed to be working. After about two or three minutes, Mom was just sniffing.

“It’s okay, Mom,” Lucy said firmly. “I can do it instead.”

Mom gave a hard sniff. “You… what?”

“You said you can’t be a hero, right? Then I’ll grow up and be a hero for you.” Lucy squeezed Mom tighter. “I’ll beat all the bad guys and make it so no one ever has to cry again. Then you won’t have to be sad anymore.”

Mom was quiet for a moment. “Is… that what you want, Lucy?”

“Yes. I’m gonna be a knight that saves everyone, like in the stories. I’ll save you too, Mom. I promise.”

Mom stopped rocking and rubbing Lucy, though her hug tightened a little. Her breathing sounded rough and scratchy. Lucy could feel Mom’s hands trembling against her back. Lucy didn’t know what else to say. She’d made her promise. Now she just had to keep Mom from crying again today.

When Mom spoke again after a long minute, there was a strange tone in her voice. “…Lucy.”

“What, Mom?”

“If you really want to be a hero… I can help you.”

Lucy pulled back from her hug to stare at Mom in amazement. “Really? But… I thought you said you weren’t-”

“I’m not, but… I know a lot of things,” Mom’s voice was firmer, though she didn’t meet Lucy’s eyes. “I can teach you and train you-”

“Yes!” Lucy nearly yelled, excited. “Yes, please! I can do it! I can-”

Mom put a finger to Lucy’s lips. “Let me finish, please.” Lucy nodded, and Mom lowered her finger. “Becoming a hero… it will be hard, Lucy. Really hard. A lot of things will have to change. And actually being a hero… it isn’t a game, Lucy. It’s very serious. It’s a hard life to live. Do you want that for yourself?”

Lucy paused. “I… I think so…”

“No, that’s not good enough, Lucy,” Mom gripped Lucy harder, her voice and eyes getting almost-angry. “You have to be absolutely certain that this is what you want. You have to be ready to accept all the tough changes that will come with it. Once this choice is made, there isn’t any turning back when it gets hard. You have to tell me, without any doubt, that you want me to train you to be a hero.”

Lucy paused again, no longer as sure. The things Mom said, the way she said it… it kinda scared Lucy. What did Mom mean by “changes?” Just how hard would it be? And Mom said there was no turning back. If Lucy didn’t like it… She almost said no so she could go back to her foam sword and pillow shield. That wasn’t hard. She could put it down when she wanted.

But Lucy clenched a hand at the sadness that was always in Mom’s eyes. At all the other kids that avoided her. At the hurt in her chest that doodling or playing knight could never make go away for long. Mom said being a hero for real wouldn’t be fun, but if Lucy became one, she could feel good about herself all the time. She could make friends that would think she was cool and brave. She could see her Mom smile for real again.

_And I might get to use a REAL sword!_

Lucy frowned and straightened up. “I want you to train me to be a hero, Mom.”

Mom tried to keep her serious face. “Are you absolutely certain? This is the last chance to back out. If you’re serious… promise me, Lucy.”

Lucy didn’t have to think about it any more. “I promise.”

Mom slowly closed her eyes. Lucy hoped it would make her smile. To Lucy’s confusion, Mom just looked sadder now. A single tear rolled down Mom’s cheek, but she didn’t start crying again. She took a few deep breaths before opening her eyes.

“…Okay.”

Lucy smiled and got excited again. “Thank you, Mom! When can we start? Can we start tonight? Please?”

Mom took a few seconds to answer, and when she did, she was quiet. “…We’ll start tomorrow morning. For tonight… Just… Stay with me, Luce. Please.”

Lucy blinked, disappointed. “Oh… okay, Mom.”

Mom pulled Lucy in tightly and starting rocking again. Lucy laid her head on Mom’s shoulder, enjoying the warmth. She expected Mom to release her after a short while, but Mom never did. If anything, Mom’s grip only got tighter over time.

“Did I ever tell you my favorite saying, Lucy?” she whispered in Lucy’s ear.

“No, what?”

_“Transit umbra, lux permanet.”_

Lucy frowned. “What does that mean?”

“It’s an old language called Latin, Luce. It means, _shadow passes, light remains.”_

Lucy frowned harder. “What does _that_ mean?”

“It means… that nothing stays dark or bad forever. That eventually, the night will pass, and the sun will rise. That even on the darkest of nights, there are always stars to guide your way. It… can also be about people, Lucy. It can mean… that even though some people might say or do things that seem wrong, or bad… they don’t have to be a bad guy. Sometimes people lose their way… they get caught up in things too big for them, things too much for them to take…” Mom’s voice cracked on the last word. “They might do or say things that seem awful at first, Lucy. But sometimes… that’s all they can do. They have to be the bad guy for a while. And when the shadow passes, you have to believe that there’s still _good_ in them somewhere… You have to believe that they had light in them all along, waiting to come back out. You have to… be willing to forgive them.”

Lucy kept her frown on her face. So it meant bad people didn’t have to stay bad? That everyone could be good again? Lucy wasn’t sure about that. That wasn’t how it worked in cartoons. Still, she liked the way it sounded. _“Transit umbra, lux permanet,”_ Lucy whispered. The words sounded funny. She’d have to ask Mom more Latin words later.

Mom squeezed Lucy tighter and rested her head against Lucy’s. That felt nice, but she kinda wished Mom would hurry it up. She really needed to get back out to the hall and defeat the dark king before something bad happened to the princess. She didn’t complain out loud. Mom wouldn’t like that right now.

“Forgive me,” Mom whispered, so softly Lucy almost didn’t hear it.

Lucy didn’t know for what, but it wasn’t a hard choice. “I do,” she whispered back. She was squeezed ever tighter for more than another hour, growing ever more impatient to be let go.

If Lucy had known it would be the last hug she’d ever share with her mother, she may not have been so eager.

She was withdrawn from school by the next morning.


	9. Fractured

_ “A forlorn Mage alone among crowds, crowded while alone. She must reforge the lies, the minds, the splinters of what has shattered.” _

* * *

 

It wasn’t until something exploded that Kat started having fun with her latest project.

The sudden fireball blew her off her feet. She sailed backward a good two feet before she hit the floor. She groaned in pain as she landed, then laughed a few seconds later.

“Whew!” she gasped, winded by the impact. “Now we’re getting somewhere!”

Her pale blue eyes watered, still seeing the afterimage of the flash, and her ears were ringing from the sudden _boom._ Her white hair was disheveled, starting to come out of the ponytail she’d tied it in. Her thick smith’s apron was blackened, as were the exposed parts of her orange camp shirt and jeans. Her silver pendant lay askew on her collarbone, the ruby at its heart glowing with soft red light.

She grunted as she pushed herself to her feet, her body aching in protest. She’d suffered no burns, having taken proper precautions before she began. Getting thrown across her cabin, on the other hand, still hurt quite a bit.

Despite the pain, she couldn’t keep a grin off her face. The noise might bother the neighboring cabins, but what was the point in being seventeen if you didn’t get to blow something up every once in a while? Such a lively endeavor this was already, and after only one trial! She’d always found the dangerous projects to be the most interesting ones. The greater the risk, the greater the potential reward.

With this project, she hoped to make something great indeed.

It did miff her some when she saw what remained of her workbench. Splintered fragments lay on the floor, blackened and smoking. Soot and ash flakes drifted through the air, coming to rest in a pile among the wreckage. The wall the bench had rested against was unblemished; the enchanted stones from which Cabin Twenty was constructed could withstand a lot of supernatural punishment. A tiny fireball like that wouldn’t do them harm.

 _“Mist,”_ Kat swore in Ancient Greek. The ruby in her pendant glowed softly as she picked up a piece of the bench. Though it still smoked, she couldn’t feel its heat any more than she’d felt the explosion’s. “And here I’d thought you were fireproof… Guess that Gold had a bit more kick to it than I thought, eh?”

The charred wood continued to belch smoke in response.

“Ah, well,” she sighed, tossing the piece back with its fellows. “You served right to the end, brave workbench. May you find peace in… wherever it is that furniture goes.”

Kat snapped a mock salute, then extended her right hand to the ash pile. The silver brand on the back of her hand - in the shape of two crossed torches - was normally hard to distinguish from her icy pale skin. It glowed with soft silver light as she channeled her inborn power.

 _“Soot and ash, charred remains of a once proud workbench: collect and hover,”_ she spoke in Greek, putting power into her words. Her brand’s light pulsed as her energy flowed out of her hand into the smoking ruins, bending them to her command. The bench’s remains moved as if by their own accord, the wood chunks and ash particles gathering into an even tighter pile. Then, they lifted off the ground and hovered a foot in the air, leaving the floor as spotless as it had been beforehand. With a few more words of Greek, the ash ball floated over to the trash bin and lowered itself inside.

Kat released her power, and the glow of her brand faded. She huffed at the exertion and turned back to the empty stretch of floor. “Well… now I need a new bench. Preferably one that can take a few little fireworks…”

Her irritation about the bench faded in favor of excitement. Such a way to start a project! This one would be a fun one, she was sure of it. So many possibilities it presented, most of them horribly violent, but if she could get it to work…

“I need to record this and make a list,” she said to herself. She held out a hand and visualized her notebook. A heartbeat later, it formed as if from mist and dropped into her hand. She flipped it open to a blank page, then cursed and dug in her pocket for a pen. As useful as that spell was - binding an object to herself that could be called or dismissed at any time - it was annoying in that she only knew how to bind one object to herself at time, which meant that she couldn’t keep a pen with her notebook.

“But isn’t a notebook just a collection of paper?” she mused, digging through her other pocket. “At what point do the sheets of paper start being one object? After they're bound? If I chained a pen to my notebook, would that count as one object?”

An interesting idea, but one she set aside as she found her pen. Pushing the boundaries of spellcrafting was not her interest at the moment. She had much more important questions to explore.

Kat marked the top of the page “Trial 1” and recorded the details of the faulty experiment with a smile. She hummed and paced as she wrote, weaving between the many tables that filled the floorspace of Cabin Twenty. They and the many bookshelves lining the walls were cluttered with books, loose sheets of paper, and odd collections of tools and samples from various projects. Though it was a bit of a mess, none of it had been damaged in the explosion; she’d had the foresight to move everything away from the workbench just in case. The only really “neat” part of the cabin was the single bed and nightstand, shoved in the far corner like an afterthought. She’d been meaning to clean up for a while, but kept getting distracted by her projects. Perhaps she’d get around to it today. Once she finished up this bit, of course.

“Hmm…” she tapped her pen on her cheek as she studied the results, recorded in her small, neat handwriting. “One hectogram of Imperial Gold, thirty percent that of Celestial Bronze… Too unstable. Not surprising, given their opposing origins… Mmm. Using Gold as the base may be too dangerous, but it seems the more likely option, given their chemical structures…”

She made a few annotations for possible adjustments to Trial 2, noting to use a smaller sample size of Imperial Gold. The divine metal was dangerously volatile in its unrefined state, especially as a liquid. Melting down even a small sample was fraught with risk. It was just as well she’d started so small; she’d heard stories of weapon-sized quantities blowing craters in the side of mountains. Because of the dangers involved in working with it, no one had ever really pushed the boundaries of what was possible with the metal, even the children of Vulcan in Camp Jupiter.

Kat sought to change that. Metallurgy projects gave her a thrill that little else could match. The sheer possibility of creating something new with the right combinations of metals… It was a wonder she wasn’t a child of Hephaestus. With the right process, she could tease out the Gold’s secrets and use it in entirely new ways. She could change the way half-bloods fought forever.

Perhaps that would be enough for them to accept her.

“Oh, _Mist,_ ” she swore, looking over her lists of supplies. “I need more Imperial Gold…” She uttered a few more Greek curses, her good mood thoroughly soured. Getting hold of Imperial Gold was never an easy process in Camp Half-Blood, even at the best of times. Now, however, with the two camps bickering and snapping at each other, getting more of it from the Romans was going to be a massive headache. Cursed idiots and their sword measuring contests. Couldn’t they just get along and let Kat do her work in peace?

She shook her head and shrugged off her impatience. It wasn’t like she was in any hurry, and there was plenty else to keep her occupied while she waited. The only timetable she was on was her own desire to see the results, thankfully. Kat wasn’t sure how she’d handle it if she had to meet a deadline. She wasn’t good at working under that kind of pressure.

“Guess I’ll have to see if Dale can get me more…” She muttered to herself, correcting her quantity estimates in Trial 2. The Head Counselor of Cabin Nine was a jolly fellow who would be sure to listen to her requests, and do what he could to see them through, for a fair trade. In that respect alone, he was miles ahead of most other people in Camp Half-Blood. Most campers would hear her without really listening. Some wouldn’t hear her at all. A few would tell her to take her requests and shove them somewhere unpleasant.

But none of them would welcome her. They never had. Never...

The haunting images jumped unbidden to her mind. A farmhouse room. A sterile, piercing smell. Rays of sun flickering through a window, lighting a pair of eyes that could not see them.

_“...your fault… you’re just a freak…”_

When Kat looked down, her hands were shaking. She almost dropped her notebook. Her breath was ragged, her heart aching as though she’d cast a taxing spell. She was so distraught that she didn’t notice the brilliant light approaching her cabin until it was right outside her door.

The sudden knocking made her jump, which did make her drop the notebook. It vanished next to her feet. A second round of knocks started immediately, harder and faster. “Kat!” a woman’s voice called. “Kat! Open up, please!”

Kat shook herself out of her stupor and composed herself. To her eyes, the door was just that, a door. To her _other_ sense, there was a bright light on the other side of the door, roughly in the shape of a human. The aura was one she knew well, full of warmth and wisdom. It usually brightened her day when she sensed it coming in her direction. But usually, it wasn’t this late at night, nor this frantic.

“Come in!” she shouted, waving her hand at the door to unlock it.

Annabeth burst in a moment later. Her blonde hair was ruffled, and there were dark circles under her storm gray eyes. She paused for a moment to catch her breath. “We need you up at the Big House, now,” she gasped.

Her urgency wiped all other distractions from Kat’s mind. “Why? What’s happened?”

“The extraction went wrong,” Annabeth said. “Percy called ahead… It’s bad, Kat. She’ll probably lose a leg, if she even survives…” she shook her head, frowning hard at the floor.

Extraction - that meant newfound half-bloods being brought back to camp. Sometimes it was uneventful, the newcomer brought in by a satyr for a gentle introduction to the world of myth they would soon call home. Most of the time, they came in with monsters in hot pursuit, escorted by satyrs and armed demigods, provided the camp had received advance notice of them.

In some instances, the newcomers would arrive grievously wounded, an all too common fate for untrained half-bloods confronted with monsters. Many campers still bore scars from the ordeals that landed them in camp. A few had suffered permanent damage that no amount of supernatural aid could fix.

Too many didn’t survive at all. They died nameless and far from home, on the threshold of safety, burned in crestless shrouds with no one close to speak their eulogies.

Kat had almost been one of them. Not that anyone would speak for her now, either.

She rushed to her nightstand and pulled its top drawer open. “How long until they arrive?”

“Another ten minutes, maybe fifteen.”

 _Damn,_ Kat thought as she rummaged through the cluttered drawer. If the injury was as bad as Annabeth made it sound… Kat was no expert in trauma care, but after so long, the girl’s chances for survival wouldn’t be good, much less to keep her leg. Humans weren’t like metal. You couldn’t just melt down the broken bits and reforge them into something new.

Kat knew that better than anyone.

“Okay,” she said with a sigh. “I’ll be right up.”

Annabeth nodded and ran back outside without waiting. Kat watched her until she was out of sight, then flicked her hand to shut the door. She checked the curtains on the windows to make sure they were shut. Then, she pulled out a small key, hidden in a fake back-panel in the drawer of the nightstand.

She fingered the ruby on her pendant with a grimace. How she longed to remain to work on her metals, happily tinkering and forging and causing explosions… That was her real calling. All of her metallurgy and smithing knowledge couldn’t save the poor girl bleeding and dying on the way to a hard new life. She wasn’t someone that could help. She couldn’t bear that sort of burden.

So she’d have to become someone who could.

* * *

 

Ten minutes later, Kat ran up the grassy hill to the Big House. It was far later than she’d assumed, close to one in the morning. Most of the late-May sky was overcast, but the clouds skirted the borders of Camp Half-Blood, leaving a large opening to view the stars and moon. The camp was dark but for the silver moonlight, still and unmoving save for the occasional breeze.

A different time, she may have stopped to gaze at the stars and try to gleam what she could from the constellations. Astrology as practiced by mortals was inane, but someone with the right expertise could do it with some degree of usefulness. That wasn’t her right now. She had a much more important job to do.

The Big House was a stark contrast to the peaceful camp. The four-story farmhouse was brightly lit and bustling with activity. Satyrs and nymphs darted in and out, running messages and bringing medicinal supplies. There was an air of barely contained panic about the affair; she’d rarely seen the nature spirits look so worried.

“That bad, huh?” she muttered to herself. “Gods give me strength, and let it not be as bad I fear...”

That was a futile hope. If they were calling her, it was because they didn’t think ambrosia, woodland magic, or the Apollo cabin’s healing talents were going to cut it. She was the worst case resort, oftentimes the only thing between a maimed newcomer and the River Styx. No small amount of pressure, to hold another’s life in your hands with only minutes to act.

Kat could handle it. She was used to that kind of pressure.

Urgent as the request had been, she’d dressed for the part. She wore a long-sleeved blue shirt and pants with a thick apron. Her pendant rested just above the apron, the diamond in its heart glowing softly. Her hair was tied in a bun and covered with a cap. Gloves and a mask rested in her pockets. An injury of the kind she was called for would be messy, and bloodborne pathogens were a serious risk, magic or no. No sense in disregarding safety when she’d had time to prepare.

“Barely enough time,” she noted. In the western sky, set against the clouds, she could see the shimmer of gleaming white pegasi coats as they reflected the moonlight. They pulled a massive carriage behind them, shooting forward at breakneck speed. Percy was clearly pushing them to their limit.

“Why are you involved, Percy?” she mumbled as she reached the Big House door and stepped inside. “What’s really going on?”

Kat had been in the Big House earlier that day helping Chiron with some cataloguing, so she’d heard the Yancy satyr’s frantic Iris call to Percy and Annabeth. Allegedly, he’d found an undocumented half-blood girl, aged seventeen, the same age as Kat. As Percy had made the deal with Olympus that half-bloods be reported to camp by thirteen, he’d claimed a personal interest in seeing the newcomer returned safely.

That itself wasn’t out of character for him; he always made a point of confronting the responsible gods when he learned of their occasional infractions on their deal. But he’d never gone on the actual extraction. One of the Ares or Apollo kids was normally sent. There were plenty of them at the camp year-round, many of whom were on call for the week. Percy’s duties kept him too occupied to go himself. Today should’ve been no exception; he spent most of his time negotiating with the Romans these days. A regular extraction wasn’t excuse enough to step away from trying to stall a war.

No, what had triggered Percy’s sudden, rash decision to abandon his duties, take the carriage, and fly to New York had been some unassuming words by the Yancy satyr.

“There’s something… _different_ about this one,” the satyr had squeaked out, trying to keep a stammer under control.

“Like what?” Percy had asked, interested, but not absorbed yet. “Aside from the age, of course,” he’d added with some irritation.

“I-I don’t know exactly,” the satyr had said. “Her scent is… strange. Plus, she can fight.”

Annabeth had snorted. “Plenty of half-bloods learn to fight before they get here, or they don’t last long. That’s not really strange-”

“No, I mean she can _fight,_ ” the satyr insisted. “I _saw_ her, and it wasn’t just something she picked up on, you know? The way she moves, she _has_ to have training, I swear to Olympus, and I’ve asked around, and she doesn’t have any real friends I could find, but the other kids talk about her a lot, and they say…” he’d paused to catch his breath from talking so quickly. Percy had crossed his arms, but let the satyr keep rambling. “They say she beats up people twice her size if she sees them bullying someone, and that she sneaks out at night to find more bullies to beat, they call her stuff like _White Knight_ or _Bat-_ ”

The satyr had stopped, surprised at some reaction to his words. Kat had looked up from her cataloguing to find Percy and Annabeth sharing a wide-eyed look. They’d given each other subtle nods before turning back to the Iris message. “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Percy had declared, surprising Kat. “Find the girl as soon as you’re able and get her somewhere safe until I arrive.”

And so, he’d zipped off to New York, leaving important meetings unattended and, presumably, some Romans feeling slighted. All to help extract a girl because she beat up some bullies, apparently. Kat had turned the satyr’s words over in her head many times, trying to figure it out. What about the nickname _White Knight_ had elicited such a reaction from both Percy and Annabeth? Why did Percy feel like it required his personal attention? It sounded like the girl knew how to care of herself, if she’d lived for seventeen years outside of camp.

“That fact alone is strange enough,” she muttered, nudging past nature spirits as she headed toward the sick hall. “Longest case we’ve had of an undocumented half-blood was only nine months past thirteen. For more than _four years…_ Percy’s gonna have an aneurysm when we find out who her deadbeat parent is.”

First, though, Kat had to make sure the girl survived long enough to find who that was.

The sick hall was bustling with activity. Doors on both sides of the corridor sat open, their cozy rooms ready to receive injured or sickly half-bloods for recovery. Satyrs and nymphs cleared the way for her, nodding to her in respect. A corner of her lip curled upward at that; it was nice to feel appreciated for a change.

That smile faded in the middle of the hall. Her stride slowed as she passed the closed door on the left. She lingered, staring hard at the wood with a lump in her throat. Her hand twitched toward the knob.

The sound of a door opening down the hall snapped her back to reality. A set of rapid footsteps followed. Two stocky satyrs appeared at the end of the hall carrying a stretcher. They moved quickly, but without urgent hurry. On the stretcher was a scrawny, black-haired boy, unconscious and drooling. His right arm was bent at an odd angle, and his exposed skin had several cuts and bruises, but his legs both seemed fine, relatively speaking. She stepped aside for them, and they carried him to an open room near the middle of the hall. A few nymphs stepped in with ambrosia and herbs, closing the door behind them.

“That clearly wasn’t who I was called for,” Kat said to herself, perplexed. The Yancy satyr hadn’t mentioned a second half-blood. And that boy had looked around seventeen too. One long forgotten newcomer she could grudgingly accept, but _two?_ Something was _off_ about this whole situation. What was going on?

She couldn’t pursue that line of thought much further. She had to be ready to receive her patient.

The distant door opened again. She expected shouts and frantic stomping, as usually happened with a critical arrival. What came instead was the other set of sounds that she always prayed she’d never have to hear again.

Quiet, trudging steps. Whispers by the helpers. Her breath catching in her throat as realization hit.

“Oh no…” Kat whispered.

Against her faint hope, another stretcher party appeared, much slower than the first. Percy led this one, eyes bloodshot and locked ahead of him. Annabeth walked beside him, gaze downcast. There was no urgency whatsoever to their movement. Kat’s view of the stretcher was blocked by the procession of nature spirits alongside it, their heads bowed and hands clasped as if in prayer.

Kat clenched her teeth, fighting back the wave of anguish that wanted to overcome her. She put a trembling hand on the diamond set into her pendant.

“No… _Mist, why could you not give me a chance?”_ she whispered in Greek.

Logically, she knew it wasn’t her fault. Guilt came to her anyway.

Healing was her calling, her life’s great meaning. Keeping half-bloods alive was all she could offer. What use was all of her study and research if she never got the chance to use it, if they died before she could try to help? How was she supposed to atone for her mistake? How else could anyone possibly accept her?

She composed herself as best as she could and strode forward. She couldn’t leave just yet. Not without seeing.

Kat followed the procession into the last door on the right, the severe trauma ward. This was where Kat tended to patients when her help was needed. Unlike the other sick wards, this one was furnished with function in mind rather than comfort, containing only a padded table for the patient, a stool, a dolly for tools, and a couple supply cabinets. Percy had laid the body on the table, which was now surrounded by mumbling nature spirits.

Kat pushed past them to the side of the table. Percy stood opposite her, staring at the body with a hard expression. Annabeth stood behind him, a hand on his shoulder. Though the answer was obvious, the question came to Kat’s lips anyway. “Is she…?”

Percy gave a short nod. “I wasn’t fast enough…” he said, his voice unsteady. Annabeth squeezed his shoulder, but said nothing. To Kat’s innate _other_ sense, their life auras were wavering, dimmer than usual. The nature spirits around them were likewise, though they were never as bright as half-bloods anyway.

 _This for someone they never knew…_ She berated herself for the thought, but she couldn’t help wondering. Would anyone look so defeated if she died? Would anyone care as much as they did for this nameless corpse?

Unable to look at Percy’s struggle to stay composed any longer, Kat instead looked to the girl on the table. Her lower left leg was wrapped in bandages and blankets that had soaked with red. They’d clearly been applied in a hurry, and rather shoddily. Percy meant well, but he wasn’t exactly an expert when it came to first aid. If an Apollo kid had gone instead, would that have made a difference? Kat wasn’t sure.

Her eyes drifted slowly to the girl’s face. Her clothes were baggy and tattered, like a lot of the street urchins that came to camp. Her round face suggested childish innocence. The scar on her cheek suggested otherwise, as did the scars on her muscled arms and the callouses on her hands. Her final expression was one of pain, frozen on her pale face. The glow of her aura was dim like a fading candle. If she’d lived, perhaps it may have become a radiant flame. Much as Kat wanted to know this girl’s story, there was no chance of that now. Not unless-

 _Wait,_ Kat suddenly realized. _Aura?_

Kat checked again. Then she checked a third time, just to be sure. There was no mistake: the girl had an aura. It was very dim, but it was there.

Death snuffed out life auras immediately. They never lingered in corpses. Never.

“She’s still alive,” Kat muttered. She looked around, but no one else seemed to have heard her. “She’s still alive!”

Everyone in the room turned to her in surprise. “What?” Percy asked. “But… I checked her pulse-”

“I can sense her aura!” Kat insisted. “I can still save her! Get my tools!”

The room burst into action without further convincing. The nature spirits rushed to the cabinets to load the dolly up with supplies. Percy and Annabeth backed away from the table as Kat came around it, pulling on her gloves and mask. She started unwrapping the blankets around the girl’s leg, paying no mind to the blood.

Though her mind and heart were racing, her hands were steady. The girl might only have minutes more. Kat could still save her. Kat _had_ to save her. It was the only penance Kat could offer.

A nature spirit wheeled the dolly to her, nodded, and rushed out of the room with the rest of the helpers. Annabeth and Percy followed, though Percy lingered in the doorway, shaking his head in disbelief. “But I was sure… How can she possibly-”

“Thank you, Percy!” Kat snapped at him. He muttered an apology and left, closing the door behind him. That left Kat alone in the room with her patient, the only way she could focus the way she needed to.

She grabbed scissors from the dolly to cut open the bandages; no need to waste energy using magic unless she had to. She mentally prepared a spell to staunch blood flow. Her cut finished, the bandages fell to the sides, revealing the full extent of the damage.

 _“Olympus above…”_ Kat swore in Greek.

The girl’s lower leg had nearly been pulverized, crushed by something heavy and fast. Bits of shattered bone were visible among torn muscles and ligaments. So much blood. Kat had seen many injuries, but nothing quite so… _gruesome._ She fought the urge to look away, getting her mind into treatment mode.

“Probably half an hour since the injury,” Kat muttered. “Tibial nerve is severed… No way to save this. Amputation is the best course… you might hate me, but at least you’ll live.”

She mentally prepared a round of spells to anesthetize and sever the girl’s leg below the knee. Bones, muscle and skin were relatively easy to repair, but nerves were much more difficult and dependant on how quickly Kat could tend to them. With a fully severed major nerve, she’d have to treat it within minutes to have a chance of saving it. Being an amputee was regrettable, but it was better than being dead. Really, it was a miracle that the shock of the injury hadn’t killed the girl already. Or the massive blood loss, over the time it took for Percy to find her and fly to camp from Brooklyn, nearly half an hour…

“Percy’s right,” Kat muttered. “How the hell are you alive?”

She knelt closer to the injury. She muttered a spell to magnify her sight and examined it carefully. What she noted puzzled her, so she magnified her sight further and further. She confirmed her original observation. The girl’s torn blood vessels were still unclotted. Even on an injury this large, they should have begun clotting by now. She was still bleeding, but the blood was leaking out slowly. _Very_ slowly.

What was more, if Kat looked closer… the cell integrity, the chemicals in the damaged tissue… It all suggested a fresh injury. No more than a couple minutes old at the most.

“What the hell…” She said, her brow furrowing. She unmagnified her sight and stood, the leg momentarily forgotten. She felt for a pulse, but as Percy had said, she couldn’t find one. Yet, the girl’s aura was still there, dim and holding on.

Taken by a sudden suspicion, Kat uttered a different spell. The diamond in her pendant glowed, as did her brand through her glove. The spell let her see _inside_ the girl’s chest cavity as if she’d taken an x-ray. The girl’s heart didn’t appear to be moving at first, but as she watched, portions of it ever so slowly expanded and contracted.

That confirmed Kat’s initial instinct. The girl _did_ have a pulse; it was just so slow that it couldn’t be felt. Kat ended the x-ray spell, mind racing as she stared at the girl’s pained face. She’d never seen this kind of thing before, and only one obvious explanation came to her at the moment.

“You’re in some kind of stasis,” Kat muttered. “Keeps you nearly frozen the way you were when it started. Mmm… Someone must’ve put you in it right after you got hurt, kept you from bleeding out…” Her brow furrowed, and she shook her head. “Not Percy, he doesn’t know any magic… but even so…”

She examined the girl more closely with her _other_ sense. Her frown deepened. “No, I can’t sense any magic affecting you other than the ambrosia… Granted, no spell I know of could do this, not that I’m a spellcrafting expert at the moment...  A god, then? But they never intervene to save injured newcomers… Not even injured vets. Why, then? What’s so important about you?”

Called _different_ by a satyr. Allegedly possessing some kind of training. Pulling Percy Jackson himself on an extraction. Left unknown in the world of mortals for seventeen years, then kept alive by divine intervention. Who _was_ this girl?

“You’d better survive long enough for me to find out,” Kat told her.

Kat snapped back into focus. The girl’s stasis state - assuming that’s what it was - changed everything. As far as her cells were concerned, mere minutes had passed since the injury, which meant there was still a chance to save her leg. It would be long and difficult work; Kat wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight.

That mattered none to her. Healing was exhausting, but there was nothing more gratifying. After all of her study and research into anatomy, biology, chemistry, and modern medicine, she was confident there was no one in either camp better suited to this job than her. It was a wonder she wasn’t a child of Apollo.

She pulled off her left glove and took the handful of gemstones sitting on the dolly with her tools. To the common eye, they were nothing fancy to look at, just small and poorly cut chips of topaz and amethyst. To Kat’s _other_ sense, each one glowed with light, a sign of the power they concealed. She rolled them in her bare palm, feeling a sort of static charge where the rough edges brushed her skin.

Excellent energy reservoirs, gemstones made. Finer cut ones worked better, but these would suffice. She always set aside a portion of each day to come here and fill these, as well as the ones in her cabin, with her excess energy. Luckily, there hadn’t been a medical emergency requiring her aid in months, so she’d had time to stockpile. By her estimate, she had around twenty gems in her hand, each one containing roughly a Unit of energy - her self-defined term for the average energy produced by her body in twenty-four hours. That plus the energy in her body now: just around three weeks worth of the energy naturally produced by a human.

Looking at the grisly injury, Kat wasn’t sure that would be enough.

“Fix what you can, Kat,” she told herself, mentally preparing the spells she’d need. “Get it to the point where it can heal on its own.” Easier said than done, of course. She bowed her head and closed her eyes. “Apollo, guide my hand and my words, and let this soul be healed…”

Sucking in a deep breath, she tapped the well of power clutched in her left hand. It streamed into her like a river, intoxicating at first, but painful as it reached into her every muscle, straining to be set free. Her icy pale skin, which normally seemed to shimmer under the room’s fluorescent lights, actually started to glow as the power filled her. Every hair on her body stood on end; she’d probably look ridiculous even with her hair in a bun. The brand on her hand was glowing brightly enough to be clearly seen through her glove. She continued to draw more power from the gems until she felt ready to burst, then extended her right hand over the girl’s leg.

The Ancient Greek she spoke was long and complex. It spoke of healing, more specifically of realigning, reknitting, refusing back together, and more specifically of the exact ways that each specific tissue and muscle needed to reconnect. Power flowed out of her right hand just as quickly as it entered her left, pouring into the girl’s wound to do its work.

She started with the severed nerve, the most difficult and taxing aspect. Luckily, she was able to get it reconnected and working properly again, then immediately numbed it. After that, she went to work on the shattered bones, grafting them back into their rough places without completely sealing the breaks. Tendons and ligaments came next, followed by the larger muscles. She couldn’t do anything about the blood the girl had already lost, but thanks to her stasis state, Kat didn’t think she’d require a transfusion. She’d be doing no training of any kind for a while, that much was certain.

Kat expected the stasis to interfere in some way, but it never did. If anything, it made it easier. It was a comfort to know that she could take her time to do the job properly instead of rushing to keep the girl alive. As well as Kat did with that pressure, saving the leg under such circumstances would have been impossible. It was tricky enough as it was.

She barely noticed the time passing, absorbed as she was in her work. Her only real metric of it was the girl’s leg as it healed, and the gemstones in her left hand as their lights went out one by one. By the time the last one was starting to dwindle, her throat was raw and her right arm was stiff. She made last tweaks to a few small muscles, finished sealing up the breach in the skin, and finally stopped her incantation, releasing the flow of power.

She grunted as she staggered backward, falling heavily into the stool behind her. Her arms hung limply at her sides, a few of the gems slipping from her fingers and clattering to the floor. She smacked her lips numbly, her shallow breaths ragged. Every part of her ached from hosting such a broad power flow for so long. The thought of falling to the floor and taking a nap was very tempting. How long had she been at it? She wasn’t sure; the trauma ward had no window or clock.

She forced herself to stand to inspect her work. The girl’s leg was whole again, seemingly unblemished from the outside. Internally, her bones were still badly fractured - healing bones fully cost much more energy than was feasible - but were set to the point where they could repair themselves with little problem. The girl would have a limp for a while, but she would recover.

“And out of stasis, I see,” Kat croaked, noting the girl’s softly rising chest. Her expression was still pained, but less so as she shifted and grimaced. Kat glanced at the ceiling. “Whoever did that… thanks, I guess.”

She didn’t get a response, not that she’d expected one.

When Kat trudged out of the trauma ward into the hall, she was surprised to find Percy, Annabeth, and all the nature spirits waiting on the floor along the hall. Chiron sat among them in wheelchair form. They all looked up as she emerged with hopeful eyes. “So?” Percy asked, his voice hoarse and eyes still bloodshot.

“She’ll live,” Kat said. She grimaced at the sudden outburst of cheering from the nature spirits. When they quieted, she jerked her head toward the door. “Her bone’s still fractured, though. Get her in a splint with some ambrosia. And no training for a while; she lost a lot of blood.”

A few nymphs nodded and went to do as she asked, glad to be helpful again. The rest slowly dispersed, their long worries over. Percy and Annabeth rose to meet her, and Chiron rolled over with a warm smile. “Again, you do us and your patient a great service, Kat. Thank you.”

Kat managed a weak smile. “Does great service get rewarded with food?”

“We’ve got a meal set for you already in the rec room,” Annabeth said. “It might even still be warm!”

“Thank you,” Kat mumbled, following them with short steps down the hall. Long spellcasting always left her famished; Annabeth made a point to have a meal waiting for when she got done with her work. She beamed with subdued joy as they entered the rec room and she spotted it: a steaming plate of macaroni and cheese with a pair of hot dogs, all smothered in a thick layer of ketchup. Her favorite. She barely managed to restrain herself from tearing into it like an animal as she sat down. Barely.

Percy and Annabeth sat down near her, and Chiron wheeled up next to her. “You were in there for hours, Kat,” Percy said. “You really managed to save her leg?”

Kat swallowed a large gulp of water. “Hours? Really? Huh. Time just slips away from me. Yeah, I saved it. She should be fine with plenty of ambrosia and rest.”

“Glad to hear it,” Percy said, though he seemed troubled. “And here I’d thought…”

Annabeth pursed her lips. “From the way Percy described her injury, and how long it took to get here… You do amazing work, Kat, but you can’t perform miracles. How exactly did she survive at all, much less with an intact leg?”

“Yes, I’m most interested to hear that as well,” Chiron said, folding his hands in his lap. “By Percy’s account, the girl had no pulse when they arrived. Unless you’ve somehow created working necromancy, I doubt this was a routine procedure, correct?”

Kat bit back a comment on how necromancy would hardly be routine either. She chewed over another bite of ketchup-drenched hot dog, getting her strength back slowly with each bite. “No, not routine at all. Seems someone upstairs has an interest in keeping our new friend alive.”

The adults shared looks, then looked back to her. “What do you mean, Kat?” Percy asked.

“She was in some kind of stasis. Kept her as she was just after the incident. Her pulse was there, just really slowed down. That’s why I could save her leg. I couldn’t sense any magic on her, though, so I assume that one of the gods must have placed her in it. She came out of it once I was done.”

They all considered that for a long moment. Kat continued eating. The room was silent but for the crackle of the fireplace at Kat’s back and the beeping of the Pac-Man machine in the corner. Light was starting to shine through the windows. Dawn already? Wow, Kat _had_ been in there for hours.

“That’s… strange,” Annabeth said, stroking her chin as she stared at the table. “I’ve never heard of something like that before. The gods don’t usually intervene like that.”

“Could’ve been her parent, realizing they forgot her and trying to compensate,” Percy suggested.

“Or it may not have been one of the gods at all,” Chiron mused. “We can’t know at this point. Maybe we never will. We may be able to learn more once she wakes. What’s important now is that she’s alive.”

“Yeah,” Kat muttered. “But there’s something about her that…”

“Hmm? What about her?”

Kat thought for a long moment, then shook her head. “I don’t know. Just a feeling. Forget it.”

Chiron looked to Percy and Annabeth, then regarded Kat a moment more. “Kat, when she wakes, I’d like you to be here. Or at least, nearby.”

Kat swallowed another bite and raised an eyebrow. “You want me to read her aura?”

“Yes. Tristin was insistent on her scent being ‘odd.’ We could wait for her claiming, but… Something tells me that wouldn’t tell us everything we’d like to know. I’d feel better to hear it from you first, if you’re willing.”

Kat gave that a moment’s pause. Aura readings weren’t her subject matter; they had nothing to do with healing. When the girl woke though, hours or maybe days from now… She nodded. “Okay, sure. Send for me and I’ll be up here.”

Chiron smiled. “Thank you.”

Kat’s eyes widened in mid-bite as she remembered. “Oh, and what about that second person you brought in, the guy? What’s up with him?”

The adults all shared those irritating looks again that said _“We know something you don’t.”_ “He’s… a bit more straightforward,” Percy said. “We weren’t expecting him, but he was with the girl during the Laistrygonian attack. We found he was half-blood too, so we brought him back. We didn’t think to mention him to you because his injuries weren’t life threatening.”

“But he looks around seventeen too, doesn’t he?” Kat asked.

Another set of looks. “Yeah, we know he is, because his father already confessed to us.”

Kat nearly choked on a chunk of hot dog. “What?”

“Yeah. Hermes Iris messaged us right after you started your treatment. Said he’d forgotten Cael because he was ‘hard to keep track of,’ had nothing but apologies.” Percy rolled his eyes. “Right. Like the kid is gonna take that excuse.”

Hermes, god of tricksters and thieves - no surprise there, from the way the boy had looked. Street thieves were all too common additions to Cabin Eleven. He’d fit in just fine.

“But doesn’t it seem a bit… _convenient_ that two neglected half-bloods around the same age just _happened_ to be in the same place for us to find?” Kat asked. “Something’s not right about all this.”

Kat had to keep from cursing the three of them aloud at yet another set of looks. Percy and Annabeth held each others’ gazes particularly long. Kat pretended to be engrossed in her meal, watching the movement of their auras carefully with her _other_ sense.  Puzzlingly, they both glanced at her, then back to each other. Annabeth mouthed something at him, something that Kat could just barely parse in her aura’s brilliant glow.

_Knight. Thief. Mage._

Percy mouthed more words back at Annabeth that Kat couldn’t make out. She couldn’t help frowning at her plate, her mind racing to keep up.

 _Mage_ couldn’t refer to anybody but Kat, that was a commonly known fact in both camps. The satyr had referred to the girl in his message as a _White Knight._ The boy who’d arrived with her had effectively already been claimed by Hermes, god of thieves. But what did the three of them have in common? Perhaps the girl and boy already knew each other, but what did that have to do with Kat? What were Percy, Annabeth, and Chiron hiding from her? And _what in the Mist’s name was going on?_

“We’ll figure it out, Kat,” Annabeth said with a reassuring smile as Kat finished her plate. “We can worry about it all later. Right now, you should head back down to your cabin and get some rest. You must be exhausted.”

She was, but she could barely focus on that when there were secrets abound that might involve her. She knew from experience that pressing any of them wouldn’t work. She’d have to bide her time and find another way to get it out of them. She yawned and stood, putting on a weary smile for them. “Yeah… I could use a morning nap. Don’t be afraid to wake me up if she does before me.”

“One of us will come get you,” Chiron said. “Sleep well, Kat. And _do_ actually sleep, would you please?”

Kat rolled her eyes. “Of course, Chiron. Sleep deprivation can have serious debilitative effects on overall health and cognitive function, I’m well aware.”

“...yes, of course. Just be sure that you… stay aware, would you?”

Kat’s jaw tightened. “...Yeah. Sure.”

With that, she left the room. Whispering between the three of them started the second she was out the door. That irritated her, but they’d notice if she tried to eavesdrop, even with magic. Chiron would make sure of that. Whatever it was, she’d be sure to find out in due time, hopefully when her mind wasn’t fatigued from overwork and lack of sleep. Better to return home and get some rest.

Dawn’s light nearly blinded her when she opened the back door. Disoriented, she almost ran into the two people about to enter the Big House.

They backed away at the sight of her with set jaws and wary eyes. She recognized the two of them - they’d been patients of hers. Allen, a stocky son of Demeter who’d been mauled by a hellhound - the scars were still visible on his cheek. Chris, a heavier son of Hebe who’d nearly been drowned by a telekhine. Those had been tricky cases indeed - both had nearly died even with her help.

Kat nodded to each of them with a polite smile. “My apologies. Excuse me.”

The two boys regarded her coldly and didn’t respond. Keeping that smile on her face, she stepped around them and started down the hill towards the cabins. One of them said something to the other; she caught a snippet of it on the stirring morning breeze.

_“...freak.”_

The door closed behind her. She continued down the hill. Her hands were clenched, her back was rigid. Yet, she kept that smile on her face.

That was an important rule for tending to younger patients. Keep smiling. Don’t let them see your fears, your worry. Let them believe everything will be alright. Let them hope that it will get better, that it will all turn out okay… Keep smiling long enough, and perhaps you’d believe it yourself.

Keep smiling, for nobody accepts something they see as broken.

“Healing is taxing on the mind as well as the body,” she said to herself with forced chipperness as she approached Cabin Group One. “Perhaps… some light project work to set my mind at ease before I rest. Yes, that will do me some good.”

The camp was starting to come alive with morning’s light. Birds made their songs known as they circled the canopy of the woods. Naiads zipped and splashed through the river with schools of fish. The first campers were emerging from their cabins, bleary-eyed and often still clad in pajamas. Many of them halted when they saw her approaching. They whispered to each other and pointed. Some of them snickered and sneered.

And still Kat wore that hollow smile.

“Projects,” she whispered to herself. “Yes, projects…”

Unfortunately, she didn’t have any active medical projects to work on, and nothing prepared to start a new one. There was nothing else interesting enough to really distract her as she needed. To keep her mind ahead of the emotion chasing it.

No, Kat the healer would surely lose that race. She found joy in mending wounds and curing ailments. Not in fusing metals and setting off explosions.

Perhaps Kat the smith would have better luck.

Smile still on and eyes averted from the waking camp’s whispers, Kat returned to Cabin Twenty, sealing herself back in her sanctuary of books and projects.


	10. Half-Blood

_“Oh Earth Mother, Fathers of Sky and Sea, where have you gone? Your progeny fall like leaves before the storm, their crowns stolen and crumbled to ash.”_

* * *

 

_Something is wrong._

The feeling was clear when little else was. Lost in a dark haze, she couldn’t respond right away. Thinking was difficult. So much easier to drift back into the dark without a care in the world…

_I’m in danger._

What? Danger? No… That didn’t make sense, did it? The dark was welcoming. The safe thing was to return to it, not waste precious energy worrying…

But… the dark wasn’t natural, was it? There was somewhere she needed to be, some _one_ she needed to be…

Lucy… Yes, her name was Lucy. She had a duty, a mandate to protect… Something… Something to fight…

Bullies. Hellhounds. Thugs. Ogres. Thieves. Giants. Yes, Lucy had fought all those and more. But if she could fight, then what was the danger? What was…

_“Don’t let them find you.”_

Advice Lucy had been given. Sorrow pierced the dark’s veil. She’d tried to follow it, hadn’t she? Yes, but what did it mean? Who…

_Something is seriously wrong!_

Being Lucy brought pain. Shame. Failure. The dark offered peace, comfort. But that nagging sense of impending danger kept her from returning to it. It dragged her up, forcing her to acknowledge herself, to resist the urge to give in...

_I have to wake up!_

Waking meant fighting, fighting meant more pain, more failure-

_I’m in danger! Wake up!_

Danger, enemies, monsters, pain, death, failure-

_Wake! Stand! FIGHT!_

Lucy shot upright as she woke.

Nausea hit her immediately. She doubled over, lightheaded. Her hands trembled as she clutched at her gut and head. Her forced breaths were shallow as she tried to hold back the bile that wanted to rise in her throat. Every part of her ached. She groaned, aggravating her parched throat.

Head pounding, gut churning, heart racing, she grabbed at her hip, looking for her knife. She found nothing. Panic rose with her nausea. She needed a weapon, she had to fight, she had to…

The panic faded when she realized she was alone in a small room. It was cozy and seemed like it belonged in an old timey farmhouse. It was sparsely furnished, with only a cabinet, a nightstand, and a stool that sat by the side of her bed. Rays of sunlight streamed through the blinds of the sole window. A glass full of amber liquid sat on the nightstand, a bendy straw sticking out of it.

Lucy rubbed bleary eyes, her nausea fading some. Her groggy mind took a while to catch up. She had no idea where she was, but it wasn’t the first time she’d woken up injured in an unfamiliar place. She seemed to be safe for the moment. There was no danger after all.

So why was she still so tense?

 _Where am I?_ she thought. _What happened? How did..._

The thief, the chase, the Laistrygonian attack in the alleyway. Yes, she’d fought the monster, but she hadn’t won, had she? No, no, she’d been…

The pain in her leg surged to the front of her mind. Her heart jumped into her throat. She threw off the white sheet covering her, bracing herself for a horrible, disfigured mess… And was instead met with completely unblemished skin, the leg locked in place by strange splints of intricately carved wood.

What was more, her clothes had been changed. She now wore a clean, well fitting orange shirt with writing that she couldn’t make sense of at first. The letters… those were Greek letters, weren’t they? Her pants had been replaced by black shorts that ended at her knees. Her socks and shoes were gone completely, leaving her feet bare. Her splinted leg ached as she wiggled her toes.

Lucy blinked at her leg. She shifted it slightly and winced; broken bones for sure. But the hit she’d taken… That would have done a _lot_ more than break a few bones. How was she still alive, much less in one piece?

Her head throbbed again - she couldn’t think clearly at the moment. Her throat was so parched. She reached for the glass on the nightstand, trying not to strain her leg. The amber liquid looked like apple juice. She gave it a sniff, then took a cautious sip through the straw.

A soothing warmth flooded her body. Her nausea faded entirely, and the aches in her head and leg seemed to dim. It certainly wasn’t apple juice… Oddly, the taste reminded her of seasoned chicken breast with a side of rice. That alone nearly made her stop - where had the people who left this learned of her favorite meal? The taste and the warmth overrode her caution. She drank until the glass was empty. She set it back down, frowning. Her aches had dulled enough that she could ignore them.

Someone had saved her from the giant and given her medical treatment. What kind of treatment must it have been to repair what must have been gruesome damage, to use such oddly carved splints? And why did she still feel so on edge, when all signs suggested that she was safe?

 _My knife,_ Lucy thought, brushing her right hip. She felt worse than naked without it. Had whoever saved her recovered it from the thief? What had become of him?

 _Did I… use Empowerment on him?_ she thought with a grimace. Her memory of those moments was hazy. She prayed she was misremembering, that the thief had just run away. If she’d used her ability on him, it would have made even a vagrant like him brave enough to do something stupid, like attack the Laistrygonian. If he’d done that…

Another tally. Another mark. _Eight._

No. She couldn’t know for sure. Best not to think about that right now. Not yet.

She was too restless to wait for answers. She climbed out of the bed slowly, wincing as she shifted her leg ever so gently. Nausea came back some as she wobbled to an unsteady foot. Her aching body wanted nothing more than to lay back down and sleep some more. She grit her teeth and limped to the door, clutching the wall for support.

She emerged into a long hall with many doors on both sides. It bore the same farmhouse aesthetic as her room had. One door near the middle of the hall was closed, but the rest stood open, revealing rooms identical to Lucy’s. She thought she could hear voices ahead, but this hall was _long._ After what seemed an eternity, she finally turned the corner - and was faced with another hall. Shorter, but still too long.

 _How big is this place?_ Lucy thought, holding back grunts of pain from her leg. _Who saved me?_ The voices she’d heard were becoming clearer. Perhaps they would have the answers.

She could make out what they were saying at the middle of the second hall. “...think we would _need_ to do such a thing, hmm?” One voice demanded, angry and male.

“Oh, please,” a female voice, angrier, replied. “You people wouldn’t know the backside of a pegasus if it kicked you in the face.”

“That’s enough, both of you!” a third voice said. It was also female, more mature sounding, and had a distinct air of command to it. “We’re not here to insult each other. We can clear this up without needing to-”

“Oh, we can, can we?” The first voice demanded. “And how would we do that? You aren’t exactly impartial.”

“Look, I stand outside this-”

“Like hell you do! You Greeks just _love_ to play dirty, can’t accept when people of _real_ skill-”

“People of _real skill,”_ the second voice said mockingly, “don’t feel the need to cheat!”

“We did _not!_ You have _no proof-”_

“Oh I’ll show you _proof,_ you stupid pompous-”

The first two voices began shouting over each other. Lucy paused at the end of the hall, unsure if she should interrupt. The third voice, the mature woman’s, finally managed to shout them into silence.

“ _Enough,_ ” she said, her voice gaining an exasperated edge. “Clearly we can’t solve this like adults. We’ll have to have an official inquest-”

“Great,” the first voice said, clapping his hands. “Yes. Wonderful. I’m sure that will work wonderfully, with all of you _Greeks-”_

“The panel,” the woman raised her voice, “will be half Roman, Marcus. Chiron will break ties. We will do this _fairly,_ I swear to you on the River Styx.”

Thunder rumbled through the building. Lucy could have sworn it had been sunny, hadn’t it? The first two voices made more arguments, but the woman silenced them again. “That’s enough. The decision is made. I’ll hear no more about it.”

A set of footsteps stomped away and slammed a door. A long moment passed before a second set followed. Once they were gone, Lucy heard a heavy sigh from the next room.

She waited a moment more, then stepped around the corner. The room she came into was a cross between rec room and meeting room. Stuffed animal heads lined one wall above a fireplace; Lucy swore one leopard’s eyes were following her. An old Pac-Man machine beeped in the corner. Over a dozen fold-out chairs circled a ping pong table in the center of the room.

A blonde woman sat in one of them, eyes closed and rubbing her forehead. She seemed exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes and a sluggishness to her movement. It made Lucy think of her mother, so many years ago. Perhaps, once she knew what was going on, she might be able to help this woman?

The woman opened eyes of storm gray. She sat up straighter when she noticed Lucy, then got to her feet and rushed over. “Ah! You’re awake! You shouldn’t be up and walking yet! Come on, sit down, please…”

She helped Lucy to one of the chairs. Lucy fell in it without protest, wincing. The woman called down another hall for someone, then sat in the chair next to Lucy. When Lucy swayed at a sudden rush of nausea, the woman caught her shoulder and held her steady.

“How are you feeling?”

Lucy blinked at her. The woman’s gaze was intense, but there was genuine concern in her voice, a gentleness to her touch. She seemed like someone that could be trusted. And yet, Lucy wanted to shy away from her, still tense. She’d be like that until she got her knife back. If she did.

“I’ve felt worse,” Lucy nearly coughed out.

The woman gave her a half-smile. “I don’t doubt that, but that doesn’t make it easier. Try not to move too much or too quickly, okay? You lost a lot of blood.”

 _A lot of blood, with no visible wound or scars. What did you do to me?_ Though Lucy should’ve felt grateful, it unsettled her. It reeked too much of the supernatural. Like what she could do with her Empowerment.

“Who are you?”

“My name’s Annabeth. You must have a lot of questions. Don’t worry, I can-”

“Where’s my knife?”

Annabeth paused. “Your knife?”

“My knife,” she repeated. “Where’s my knife?”

“I… We didn’t find any weapons on you when we brought you in. Did you lose it when you were attacked?”

 _The thief must still have it, if he’s alive,_ Lucy thought grimly. She’d have to find some way to track him. Assuming he hadn’t sold it already. And assuming the Laistrygonian hadn’t destroyed it. Unless someone had found it in that alley. Or Annabeth was lying so she could have it for herself.

Lucy shook her head. She was being rude. Abrasive. She shouldn’t act that way to someone who’d helped her. But she felt too out of it. Exhausted. Aching. On edge. Confused by her leg, the conversation she’d overheard. No wonder she wasn’t feeling like herself.

Another three people entered the room. One was a tall, black haired man around the same age as Annabeth. The second was an old guy with a beard and wheelchair. The third was a short, plump kid with curly hair, acne, and some kind of leg problem - Lucy started as she recognized him. The kid she’d saved from the bully, right before going to Miss Warren’s office. What had his name been?

The wheelchair man whispered into the kid’s ear. He nodded, gave Lucy a nervous smile, and rushed out of the room. A door opened and closed out of sight. The black-haired man sat next to Annabeth, and the wheelchair man rolled up opposite Lucy. They both gave her friendly smiles.

“It’s good to see you awake, child,” the wheelchair man said, his voice kind. “You gave us quite the scare.”

“You must be starving,” the black haired man said. “Here, eat this. It’ll help.” He slid a small plate across the table, piled with amber cubes that looked like some kind of fudge. Lucy chewed one; it tasted like the drink earlier had, of chicken and rice. It gave her the same warm feeling, soothing her aches even more.

That let her be more aware of how tense she was. If she only had her knife...

 _Calm down,_ she berated herself as she ate, keeping her eyes on the plate. _They helped you. Think about your knife later. There’s nothing to worry about._

Logically that made sense. If only her emotions would agree.

She finished the plate and looked up reluctantly. “Thank you,” she said.

“It’s our pleasure,” the wheelchair man said, still wearing that welcoming smile. Those eyes of his, twinkling, full of wisdom… Lucy felt like he was far older than he appeared. “What’s your name, child?”

She didn’t think anything of him calling her a child, though she was soon to be eighteen. “Lucy.”

“Good to meet you, Lucy. I am Chiron. These are my colleagues, Percy and Annabeth Jackson.” They each nodded to her in turn. It unsettled her how closely they all seemed to be watching her.

“You brought me here? You… healed me?”

Percy nodded. “I found you after your… accident. I brought you back here and got you help.”

Lucy licked her lips. “And the thing that caused that accident?”

Percy’s expression darkened. “I took care of it. Don’t worry.”

A chill crawled through Lucy as she looked at him. The look in his sea-green eyes, those scars on his forearms… Somehow, she knew. This was a man who knew how to kill monsters, and did it well. There was an air of dangerous power to him, like a raging sea barely contained by a dam. He would be able to do things normal people couldn’t. Fight like normal people couldn’t.

Someone like her mother. Someone like her.

She gripped the sides of her chair tightly.

Percy frowned. “Are you okay, Lucy? Do you need some more ambrosia, or-”

“I’m fine,” Lucy managed, forcing herself to relax. She could worry about the implications later. “There was a boy there with me. Is he…”

“He’s safe,” Annabeth said. “We brought him back with you. He’s already made a full recovery. His injuries weren’t as… bad as yours.”

Some of her tension eased at that. The thief had lived. And if he was here, he might still have her knife. Two less things to worry about.

“How long was I out?”

“A little more than two days. We expected you might sleep for a couple more… You went through some pretty heavy trauma.”

Two days… Today was Monday. A half hour before noon. Mrs. Franz was probably having a field day with this. How many days of bathroom duty would she have racked up when she got back?

Lucy swallowed. “And… where did you bring me? Where am I?”

Chiron said, “This is Camp Half-Blood, more specifically, the Big House, were we hold important meetings. I am the activities director of the camp. Percy is our combat instructor, and Annabeth is our instructor for tactics, linguistics, monster knowledge, among other things. We’ve brought you here because it’s one of the only two places in America that are safe for people like us. People like you.”

Lucy was fully rigid in her chair again, staring at him with wide eyes.

Combat instructor. Monster knowledge. _People like us. People like you._

Half-blood.

The questions had burned at the back of her mind ever since she’d begun her training at six years old. Her mother had always rebuked them, saying she wasn’t old enough. When her mother had passed, she’d given up hope of ever learning the truth. Part of her had hoped she wouldn’t. The possibilities those questions presented… Once she opened that door, there was no shutting it again, even if she didn’t like the answers. _Especially_ if she didn’t like the answers.

Duty and curiosity compelled her. She needed to know. Lives might depend on her knowing.

It was still difficult to speak the question. “What exactly do you mean, ‘people like me?’ What am I?”

Chiron folded his hands and leaned forward. “Lucy, are you familiar with myths of the gods of Olympus?”

* * *

 

“Steady now, Cael. Steady…”

Cael shifted his arms beneath him to get comfortable. He winced as his right arm throbbed. Though the break was basically healed, it still gave him pains. The dirt beneath him was firm, but cushioned by a layer of short-cut grass that danced in the soft breeze. He wiped sweat from his brow; the midday sun was starting to get to him. Still, he kept alert, his thumb hovering over the red button of the remote.

“Does he normally take this long?” Cael asked, keeping his voice low.

“Not usually,” Chet muttered beside him.

“You think he suspects something?”

“Be surprised if he doesn’t. He’s among the last five for Ares. He knows his time’s coming. They’re all starting to get paranoid.” Chet chuckled. “That’s what makes these last few more fun.”

Cael snorted lightly and glanced over at Chet. He was tall and lanky, just like Cael, with sharp features and a mess of black hair, just like Cael. They lay prone at the crest of a large hill near the Big House. They both wore black shorts and orange camp shirts. Chet held a pair of large binoculars to his eyes, keeping an eye on the door of distant Cabin Five-One. Though they’d been laying here for the last twenty minutes, Chet had never lost that impish grin he usually wore.

Cael had worn a similar grin for most of the last couple of days. It only faded in moments like this, when he pondered just how alike he and Chet looked. How similar they were of mindset, of skillset. How there were two cabins full of similar people down there, home to the half-blood sons and daughters of Hermes.

His home now. His new brothers and sisters.

Half-bloods.

Chet tensed up, snapping Cael out of his musing. “One’s coming out. Be ready.” Cael nodded, his thumb ready on the button. He didn’t relax until Chet did, letting out a disappointed sigh. “Just Alexis. We got her last week.”

Cael shifted again, stretching his stiff legs behind him. “You’re sure he’s still in there?”

“Cael! You doubt my intel? I’m hurt,” Chet said with a grin, not taking his eyes off the distant door.

“Your intel? No. Your intelligence? Yes.”

Chet chuckled. “Oh, just you wait, newbie. You’ve yet to witness the full depths of my idiocy.”

“It gets worse? Whew. And just when I thought I couldn’t lose more brain cells.”

“Hard to lose what you never had.”

“You’re one to talk.”

They traded more barbs, both grinning like idiots. Banter like this was common amongst the Hermes campers. Cael hadn’t taken to it on the first day, overwhelmed as he’d been by the revelations it had contained. His new cabinmates had understood that and given him space to get acclimated. Now, on his third day as a camper, it came naturally.

The gate in his mind hadn’t moved an inch the entire time.

“What’s the point of hiding over here, anyway?” Cael asked, squinting at the distant group of cabins. “He’ll probably know it was us.”

“Yeah, but it’s better that he doesn’t find us right away. Not until he’s had time to cool off, at least.”

Cael raised an eyebrow. “You think he’ll be that upset?”

“Jordan’s got a bit of a temper in the moment, but he’ll be able to laugh about it later.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“First rule of a good prank is the same as thieving, bro. Know your target. He’ll come around. He just needs to stew for a bit.”

Cael nodded. It still felt strange to talk to someone so casually about stealing. The Hermes kids didn’t seem to think anything of it. They all felt the same itch he did. Being in camp didn’t stop them from trying to scratch it, though they did have a code. The primary tenet was to never steal something personal from another camper. If you did by mistake and they asked around for it, you confessed and gave it back. The others were quick to forgive if it was returned. Mostly.

His focus turned again to the hard lump at his right hip, where a golden knife was concealed. He knew what it was now: Imperial Gold, made for killing monsters. Chet had advised that he keep it hidden. Not because the Hermes kids might try to steal it - that was another tenet, you didn’t steal another camper’s weapon - but because Imperial Gold was the primary tool of Roman demigods. Apparently there were two classes of demigod, each had their own camp, and the camps were bickering. Or something like that. That all went over his head. He was still processing the camp he was currently in.

Thinking about the knife brought guilt. The blonde girl was still unconscious. Percy said she’d nearly died from her wound, but that she’d recover with a working leg. How that was possible, Cael didn’t try to understand yet. What he did understand was that her condition was his fault. He’d led her on a chase directly to a monster that had been after him. He’d stolen the weapon she could have used to defend herself. She’d been injured saving him from being crushed.

The question still haunted him. _Why did she save me?_

He intended to ask her once she woke up. Then, he’d find a way to pay her back. Somehow.

Chet tensed again. “Look alive, someone’s coming… Yes, it’s him!”

Cael’s thumb touched the button. “Now?”

“Wait for it… Wait… _Now!”_

Cael pressed the button. He tensed up as though expecting an explosion. He squinted down at Cabin Group One, but it was too far; he could only see specks.

“Yeah, that should do it! Here,” Chet passed him the binoculars. Cael had to sway around for a moment before he found Cabin Five-One. A cloud of red smoke obscured the door. A shadow shifted through it. A muscled guy in a bro-tank and shorts emerged, coughing and squinting. He looked furious. He swung his gaze this way and that, shouting something Cael couldn’t hear.

A loud _boom_ sounded from the arena. Cael let Chet take binoculars back. From the open top of the arena came a _huge_ shadow, so black it seemed to absorb sunlight around it. He swore he felt the ground shake as massive paws hit the ground. The shadow gave another _boom_ before taking off on all fours, racing toward Cabin Five-One. One of the distant specks started fleeing from it.

“Ha!” Chet laughed, following with the binoculars. “Just as planned! Nothing gets her going like the smell of fresh mutton!”

Cael couldn’t share in the laugh yet. He watched the shadow chase the speck beyond the cabins, feeling uneasy. When the speck tripped and the shadow finally caught it, his breath caught in his throat. Chet just laughed even harder. He clicked a button on his binoculars. After a few seconds of soft whirring, a photo printed from a slot on the side.

Chet pulled the photo out gingerly. He took one look and burst into laughter again. “Perfect! That’s a great one!”

Cael took the image. It was a crisp shot of what Chet had seen through the binoculars. It showed Jordan on the ground, covering his face with his hands. Above him loomed the largest dog Cael had ever seen, a black mastiff the size of a tank. In the photo, it was in the process of licking Jordan from head to toe with its massive tongue.

He managed a few short laughs. “Whew. Guess he won’t need a bath today, eh?”

Chet was still trying to contain his laughter. “Yeah, he…” He paused to laugh some more. “He got the best bath in camp!”

Cael stared at the photo. It _was_ pretty funny. He just wasn’t acclimated enough to Camp Half-Blood yet to appreciate it. He’d nearly had a heart attack the first time he’d seen Mrs. O’Leary. Despite everyone assuring that she would never hurt a fly, watching her chase down another camper was distressing. It brought back memories of when he was in their place, and it had definitely _not_ been a playful game.

With Chet still rolling in the grass, Cael took the binoculars and looked again. Jordan was pushing himself up, drenched in dog slobber. Mrs. O’Leary waited next to him, panting eagerly. Jordan glared at her and brushed off. He couldn’t maintain it at how happy she seemed. He gave a resigned huff and scratched her behind one of her ears, nearly as big as his head, with a small grin.

Even after getting chased by a monster, the campers found something to smile about. Most of them relished every moment. And Percy had mentioned that the summer session hadn’t started yet, so these were just the people that lived here year round. This was their home. Their family. They’d welcomed Cael into it with open arms. It all felt like a bizarre dream, way too good to be true.

That feeling faded when he thought about what it meant. What was out there beyond this idyllic haven. Monsters. The Underworld. Titans. Gods.

His father. God of thieves and travelers. A god that had forgotten him until two days ago.

Chet finally recovered. “This’ll be great for the Wall,” he chuckled. “Definitely worth what I traded for these,” he gestured to the binoculars. Allegedly, they’d been developed by some children of Athena, the local brainiacs. Might they have reconsidered their ideas if they’d known what would come of it? Had they known all along? Cael wasn’t sure.

“Glad I could help,” Cael said as they stood. He hadn’t helped that much. The scent bomb was from one of the Hephaestus kids. The plan and intel had been Chet’s. He’d had this in motion for over a week, and Cael had arrived just in time. Chet didn’t need help to push a button, but he’d invited Cael along anyway. He appreciated that more than he let on.

“Good,” Chet said with an evil grin, “because we have far to go. I sense great potential in you, my young apprentice. Soon,” he adopted a scraggly, sinister tone, “all of Camp Half-Blood will bow to our Wall of Pranks!” He gave his best evil cackle.

Cael grinned and gave a mock bow. “I pledge myself to your teachings, master. Our reign of pranks shall be without end!”

“Come then!” Chet said in that evil overlord tone. “Let us add our latest victim to the Wall, and prepare for the next!”

They both did an evil cackle, though Cael’s needed work. He followed Chet back down to Cabin Eleven-One, which sat near the corner of Cabin Group One. Apparently, there’d used to be only twelve cabins, most with only one floor. They’d added the bottom of Group One’s rectangle - up to Cabin Twenty for some minor gods - after a deal Percy had made with Olympus nearly two decades ago.

Later, as years of peace passed and attendance soared, the fullest cabins had excavated basement levels to house more campers. Seating in the arena and amphitheatre had been expanded. Eventually, Cabin Group Two had been built. It contained cabins for more minor gods, but also some repeat cabins for the major gods that had the most kids, like Aphrodite and Ares. Hermes had another cabin there, Cabin Eleven-Two. Chet said that when the summer session was on, both cabins were crowded full of kids ranging from ages five to late college. Cael tried not to think about that yet. Hopefully he’d be more well adjusted by the time the rest of their siblings got here.

_Siblings. Weapons. Monsters. Gods._

_Half-blood._

He’d wake up eventually. Or someone would tell him there’d been a mistake. This couldn’t be real. He couldn’t be a _demigod._ Not him. The blonde girl, maybe, but not him. Not the cowardly excuse for a street thief.

_Apparently, Hermes agrees. Why else would he have forgotten me for so long?_

There’d been some weird looks at first. Whispers. They’d finally come up and asked him how he’d made it so long. “Why didn’t you come earlier?” they’d asked. “You should’ve been brought here by thirteen.”

He didn’t have answers for them. Only more questions than he’d ever had before. Every “answer” he got just raised even more questions. The instructors, Percy and Annabeth, had been keeping an eye on him since day one. Why? Was something wrong with him because he’d arrived so late? He’d asked both of them and Chiron, but they just told him to focus on his training.

Cael sighed, looking off towards the archery range. At least he got plenty of time to practice that. And now, he knew it meant something. It gave him a long awaited sense of purpose. He could deal with all the other crap as long as he had that.

At least, he hoped he could. He’d been wrong before.

Shoving such grim thoughts out of his head, he started another round of banter with Chet, content to ease his way into this wondrous, dangerous world he now called home.

* * *

 

Lucy’s jaw was slack.

The rec/meeting room was silent save for the crackling fire and the beeping arcade machine. Chiron, Percy, and Annabeth still sat with her, giving her empathetic looks. They waited for her reaction, which was nearly six minutes in coming.

She moved her mouth, trying to find her voice. “I’m… my… father was…”

“Yes, Lucy. It’s true. You bear divine blood in your veins. The blood of Olympus.”

 _The blood of Olympus…_ She shook her head slowly. It sounded so _wrong._ But yet, all of what they’d said made sense. She knew the myths well; they’d been her favorite stories as a child. It matched up with her mother’s teachings. Lucy’s own experiences.

Monsters weren’t the only thing that was real. _All of Greek and Roman myth was real._

And she was a part of it. A child of a god.

A half-blood.

It made sense. She felt that it was true. She just didn’t want to believe it.

It would let her become a hero like those of myth. Wield powers and might beyond mortal understanding. She could train and become an even more skilled warrior. She could save far more helpless lives than she ever had before.

But it also meant that there were things far more nightmarish than monsters out there. Titans. Demons. Malevolent gods. Things she couldn’t have a prayer of stopping, no matter how she fought or trained.

Worse still: they’d mentioned that Camp Half-Blood was home to close to a thousand campers during the summer, and Camp Jupiter had more. So many people that would share her skill and abilities, or greater. So many potential heroes.

So many potential villains. If someone like her attacked innocent people…

She put all that aside for now. “But… Then who’s my father? Which god?”

“We can’t know for sure yet,” Chiron said. “Now that you’re here, your father will give you a sign, claiming you as his daughter. That should happen with a few days, hopefully.”

“Do you have any hints?” Annabeth asked. “Strange happenings or powers, something your mom may have said?”

Lucy frowned. “Well… I can share energy and courage with other people, but I got that from-”

Her eyes went wide.

“From who, Lucy?” All three of them had leaned forward slightly.

“From my mother,” Lucy whispered. “She…”

“Lucy?” Percy said carefully. “Your mom…”

She looked up at them. “My mother was a half-blood too, wasn’t she?”

“From what you’ve just told us,” Chiron said, “it seems likely. If you’re willing, could you tell us about her?”

She nodded and told them about her mother. Alicia Isolde. Teacher. Warrior. Half-blood. She told them about her instruction on Empowerment, how Lucy could never do it as well as her mother. Their training with sword and tactics, the golden knife Lucy received. Instruction on monsters came last. She didn’t bring up the other lessons. Important lessons for being a hero, to be sure. But still too personal.

And she didn’t bring up that night. That horrible, black night. A power she hadn’t understood. Screaming in anguish. Covered in ash and blood. So much blood...

When she was done, Chiron leaned back and stroked his beard. “If even a fraction of what you’ve said is true, there’s no denying that your mother was a half-blood, Lucy.”

She nodded, her hand instinctively drifting to her hip. She tried to ignore her anxiety when she didn’t find anything. “Does that mean she trained here? Did you know her?”

“I remember every half-blood I’ve ever trained, and I do not recall an Alicia Isolde. However, based on what you’ve told us… You recall what I said about Camp Jupiter?”

“The Roman camp,” Lucy said. “You think she trained there instead?”

“I’m almost certain of it. Imperial Gold is the primary material for smithing in Camp Jupiter. We have some, but very little. Yes, I believe your mother was a Roman demigod, and I believe we can guess her divine parent’s identity.”

Lucy’s eyes widened. “Really? Who?”

“The ability you both have is called Empowerment, Lucy,” Annabeth said. Lucy bit back a comment that she already knew that. “One of our close friends has the exact same ability. It’s exclusive to children of Bellona, one of the Roman goddesses of war.”

Bellona. A war goddess. Lucy felt a smile creep upon her lips. That made so much sense, with how good her mother was at fighting, at tactics. How stern she’d always been, like a drill sergeant. She’d been born into all of that. It probably came naturally to her.

_All those times she told me she wasn’t a hero…_

“And that power is hereditary?” Lucy asked.

“Yes. You’re what’s known as a _legacy_ of Bellona. Half-blood parents can pass power to their children, though it grows weaker with each generation. Your future children could also have it, though it would be a lot weaker than yours is. Legacies aren’t uncommon around either camp, these days.”

Lucy pursed her lips. “So… does that mean my father _wasn’t_ a god? That I’m just a legacy?”

The three exchanged glances again. It annoyed her when they did that. “Well… I think it highly unlikely,” Chiron said carefully. “You said you grew up without a father. Did your mother ever say anything about him, that you can remember?”

“Just… just that he wasn’t around anymore.” She didn’t have to omit anything there. Her mother had forbid asking about her father.

“Not concrete proof, but a point in favor. Though I’m not a gambler, I would be willing to bet that your father was a god, Lucy. I have a good intuition when it comes to half-bloods, and you…” he hesitated. “I think you have great potential, Lucy. Far more than a simple legacy would have.”

There was something he wasn’t telling her there. She couldn’t focus on it; her mind had wandered somewhere disturbing. “But… if my mother’s mom was a goddess…” she blushed furiously and glanced at the table. “And all the gods are related… Doesn’t that mean…”

Percy and Annabeth laughed, and Chiron chuckled. “Oh, don’t worry about that, Lucy,” Percy said. “Technically speaking, gods don’t have DNA, so they don’t really care about that sort of thing. Hell, Zeus and Hera are siblings. When it comes to other demigods, the only rule is that people who share your godly parent are off limits. With gods, only your parent would be a no-no. We’ve had plenty of people with a demigod and a god as their parents. It’s not something to be embarrassed by.”

That relieved Lucy, though her cheeks still felt hot. “So is half-blood even the right term for me? Aren’t I more of a three-quarters-blood?”

“Something like that, yeah,” Percy chuckled. “That’s a bit of a mouthful though. You can just stick with half-blood, if you like.”

Lucy nodded, though she was still troubled. “I wish I’d gotten to talk with her about all this. But…”

Chiron looked thoughtful. “Lucy, if you wish, I can get in touch with Camp Jupiter and ask them for more information about your mother’s time there. They’ll have records of her accomplishments. Our relationship with them is… troubled, at the moment, but I’m sure they’ll agree to this small request. Would you like that?”

Lucy perked up at that and even managed a smile. “I would… Thank you, Chiron.” To know what sort of half-blood her mother had been… Perhaps that would help her guide her own path. “Say, if my mother was a Roman half-blood, does that mean I should be at Camp Jupiter instead?”

All three of them looked distinctly uncomfortable at that question. Chiron considered for a long moment before answering. “Well… It’s possible, even likely, that your father was a Roman god, and you do belong in Camp Jupiter. But the possibility also exists that your father was Greek. Ideally, you’d attend the camp that your father matches, but… Until we know for sure, it may be best that you stay here.”

Percy cleared his throat. “And, uh, maybe don’t go around advertising that fact. About your dad or your mom. Let us worry about it, okay?”

Again, there was something she wasn’t being told. Did it have to do with the “troubled” relations between the camps? Something else? It was all so fatiguing to keep track of. As if she weren’t exhausted enough already...

She stifled a yawn, but Chiron caught it. “Forgive me for being so long winded. You must have a thousand other questions, and I promise we will answer them, in time. But that can wait. For now, you should get some rest.”

She wanted to protest, but another yawn stopped her. “Rest… would be good.”

“Percy will help you to where you’ll be staying for now. It’s the middle of the day, but don’t let that discourage you. The cabins should be mostly empty. Get plenty of rest until you’re healed, alright?”

She nodded wearily. Percy helped her to her feet and supported her left side. They limped together to a door with sun streaming through its windows. She squinted as Percy pushed it open. It led out to the top of a grassy hill beneath a clear blue sky. The entire camp sprawled before her. Any other time, it would have been a stunning view.

Lucy barely took note of it. The energy from the cubes and drink was gone. It was all she could do not to collapse in Percy’s arms as they stumbled slowly down the hill.

And yet, she was still tense as a spring, unable to shake that sinking feeling in her gut.

* * *

 

Kat waited until the two auras reached the bottom of the hill. She studied them closely, still trying to make sense of it. When the blonde girl - Lucy - was little more than a flicker next to Percy’s brilliant glow, Kat sighed explosively.

She closed her eyes and pressed her fingers to her temples, rubbing gently. What was this conundrum that baffled her so? Why did it seem like she’d never find the answer no matter how hard she tried?

She put a hand to her pendant, tracing its amethyst with her thumb. No, she was overreacting. It wasn’t like this was dimensional physics or some abstract alchemy problem. This was a physical, tangible anomaly. Others had indicated as much. It had a cause, and she _would_ find it. It would just take more time.

Time, something Kat had plenty of. Her other arcane projects could wait. This one had to take precedent. If for no other reason than the distinct pit of dread it gave her.

She stepped around the corner she’d hidden behind and into the rec room. Annabeth and Chiron still sat there, their faces unreadable. They looked up at Kat as she approached. “So?” Annabeth asked.

Kat shook her head. “It defies all reason… I’ve never seen something like this before. I have no idea what could cause it…” She looked at the table and muttered a few more possibilities to herself.

“Kat,” Chiron said firmly. “What do you mean? What exactly did you sense?”

Kat shook her head and refocused. “Well, for starters, her aura is dim. Much dimmer than it should be.”

“You mean like… she might actually be just a legacy, nothing more?” Annabeth asked.

“No, I mean dimmer than a legacy’s. Dimmer than a mortal, even.”

“Can you explain?”

Kat paced the floor, staring at the carpet. “At first, I figured it was because of her injuries. Then, I thought it was due to her ignorance of her nature. It _did_ brighten when you told her she was a half-blood, but nowhere near as much as it should have. I can still sense Percy from here, and he’s still fairly bright, but from her… Nothing. She dropped completely off my sense when they reached the bottom of the hill.”

The adults looked troubled. Chiron stroked his beard. “I haven’t heard of such a thing before now… Mmm. That could explain why she was never found earlier, even with a satyr at Yancy. With how dull her scent would’ve been, Tristin would need to be right next to her to pick her out as half-blood. Perhaps that’s how she’s survived all this time as well, keeping hidden from monsters.”

“That still doesn’t explain why the Hermes guy with her was never found before now,” Kat pointed out.

Annabeth’s brow furrowed. “No, but… We’ll treat that as a separate issue for now. Were there any hints you could pick up from her aura, dim as it was?”

Kat sighed again, gritting her teeth. The dimness hadn’t been nearly as annoying as the other problem. “Dim or not, I was close enough that I should’ve been able to read her, if not necessarily gauge her strength. I can tell you, for a fact, that she’s not a pure legacy. But that’s all I can tell you.”

They both became unnaturally still. “...Nothing else?”

“Nothing else. Not her powers, not who her father is, not even a single detail about her mother. If she hadn’t told us what she did, we’d know nothing at all about her parentage. It’s like there’s some kind of… barrier that stops me from seeing any of that.”

Both of them were silent for a long time. Kat continued pacing, trying to puzzle it out in her head. It had to be some kind of spell, didn’t it? And yet, Kat hadn’t sensed any magic on Lucy, save for the ambrosia and nectar. Whatever it was, it _had_ to be either arcane or divine in origin. If it was arcane, then she would be able to crack it, given enough time. If it was divine… Well, she hadn’t been able to sense the stasis affecting Lucy’s body, either.

“It would seem,” Chiron said slowly, “that someone did not want Lucy to be found. And if she was, then not to be identified.”

“That much is obvious,” Kat muttered. “But how it was done…”

“I think for the moment,” Annabeth said, “we should be less concerned about _how,_ and more about _who_ and _why._ ”

Kat grunted in grudging agreement. The _how_ of it was her expertise, not the who and why. She was a student of the arcane, not a detective. Still, Annabeth was right. And if they couldn’t puzzle it out, perhaps the how could eventually lead to the who and why.

“It could be the same person who put her in stasis,” Kat suggested. “Perhaps her father is overprotective.”

Chiron shook his head. “No, I have never known any god to go to such lengths for one of their children… Your mother excepted, of course.” Kat flushed, but he wasn’t looking at her. “I don’t think it likely. If you’re right, it poses difficult questions. To forget her past the deadline for so long, I could reluctantly accept, but to intentionally hide her from us? To keep her parentage hidden, even now? There is more to this that we are not seeing. Her arrival here, at this time… I don’t believe it’s a coincidence.”

Annabeth nodded in agreement. Kat looked back and forth between them. “Wait… You think she has something to do with the relations between the camps? You think she might be a Roman sleeper agent or something?”

Annabeth gave a chuckle that didn’t reach her eyes. “That’s not likely, Kat. She told us her mother was Roman, and used to own an Imperial Gold knife. If she was going to tell us all that, why bother concealing her parentage? And if we were meant to bring her into here so she could sabotage us, why make her harder to find? The Romans wouldn’t be that sloppy, not that I believe they’d try such a thing at all. If you would, keep such thoughts just between us. I’d rather not have Lucy be the target of a witch hunt in her first week.”

Kat grunted, miffed that she hadn’t reached those conclusions on her own. “So what do you think it means, then?”

“I’m not sure… But perhaps it involves Lucy’s mother.”

She raised an eyebrow at Annabeth. “What makes you say that?”

“From Lucy’s description, it sounds like Alicia began training her at a very young age. That in itself wouldn’t be abnormal for a demigod parent of another demigod, but the way it was done… Isolated, without knowledge of either camp, or other half-bloods. Why did Alicia not bring Lucy to camp, or seek help from friends? Why teach Lucy about monsters and Empowerment, but not the gods or the camps? Something about all that doesn’t make sense… Unless Lucy was lying to us.”

“I believe there are aspects she didn’t tell us,” Chiron said, “but I don’t think she lied about what she shared. Whatever secrets Alicia Isolde may have had, Lucy is likely just as unaware of them as we are. As she’s no longer alive to tell us, we’ll have to figure out what we can on our own. A good place to start will be with whatever Camp Jupiter can provide.”

“You’re sure they’ll share?” Kat asked. “I haven’t been following events that closely, but if it’s so bad that you won’t send her there…”

Annabeth grimaced. “It’s… not good. If we send Lucy now, without definitive proof of her Roman parentage, they may accuse _us_ of planting a sleeper. And even if we did have proof, they may accuse us of trying to influence her to our cause before sending her.”

“They’re that irrational?” Kat said, surprised. She hadn’t realized the feud had progressed _that_ far.

“Yes, and we’ve done much to encourage that,” Annabeth said, irritation creeping into her voice. “I wouldn’t be surprised if we reacted the same in a similar situation. There’s plenty of irrationality to go around right now. I hope she heeds our warning not to speak of her mother… And I expect you to keep it to yourself, too.”

Kat nodded, not that she’d be gossiping with anyone anytime soon. “Okay, but if things are that bad, wouldn’t they refuse to release information on one of their veterans to us? They’d probably suspect some kind of trick, right?”

“Some of them may, but such a small request doesn’t require Senate approval. I’m sure Victoria will have someone look into it for us. It’s a blessing for us that she’s Praetor… Without her, war would’ve been declared months ago.”

Kat recognized the name, even disconnected from current events as she was. Victoria Falken, one of the two current Praetors of the Roman Legion. They called her _Draconicida,_ and she had a reputation to match. It wasn’t clear how much of that was literal and how much was exaggerated. It couldn’t be all truth, not for someone of her parentage. Still, she was renowned for wanting to restore relations with Camp Half-Blood. She wouldn’t think too much  of such a small request.

Unless whatever she found was something sinister.

Chiron sighed and backed his chair away from the table. “We agree, then. We’ll wait on whatever Camp Jupiter can provide for us. In the meantime…”

“I’ll keep working on a way to read her,” Kat said, determined. “Whatever it is, I can figure it out.”

Chiron met her eyes with a somber expression. “And your… other project? How goes it?”

Kat’s throat tightened. Her eyes flicked toward the hall that led to the sick ward. Some problems were more complex than cloaked auras. More broad than her expertise in the arcane. In answer, she could only give a shake of her head.

“Mmm. And the charms you devised? They have kept away more attacks?”

She pointedly fingered the pendant around her neck. “Yes… so far. It’s been a few months,” she said quietly.

“Good. If you wish, you can continue to study the anomalies around Lucy. But you must be subtle about it. Do not disclose any of what we’ve discussed to anyone, especially her, until I decide otherwise. Swear this to me, please.”

Kat rolled her eyes, but straightened up. “I’ll keep my observations subtle, and I won’t speak of anything we’ve discussed to anyone else, until you decide otherwise. I swear it on the River Styx.”

Thunder rumbled through the building, and she felt a sort of _weight_ settle upon her, as though encompassing her very soul. It faded quickly. Even if she’d wanted to share, she wouldn’t dare try to now. Not with what waited for her if she did. The souls of oathbreakers were said to lead the most miserable existences in all of creation.

_I wonder how far of a drop that’d be for me._

“Thank you. I have nothing else for you today, Kat. You’re free to go. If you do plan to observe Lucy, I ask that you wait a few days. Let her get settled in first.”

“Sure,” Kat muttered, her mind still on that problem. “Good luck with all that, then.”

“Olympus knows we’ll need it,” Annabeth said as Kat left the room, heading for the door.

She didn’t bother herself further with thoughts of Camp Jupiter or Lucy’s mother. They’d find nothing further unless Victoria could get them more information. Until then, it was Kat’s job to focus on the _how_ of it.

She _would_ solve this puzzle. Seeking out the mysteries of the arcane was her specialty, her life’s calling. She was, after all, a daughter of Hecate. _The_ daughter of Hecate.

The last one left. Maybe the last one ever. On top of that: cursed.

No wonder she failed so often.

She shook her head, banishing such thoughts from her mind. She had an important task now, to discover whatever Lucy was hiding. Perhaps it would be nothing of significance, and she’d turn out to be the daughter of some minor god. Kat sincerely hoped that was the case. The alternative was that the quiet, anxious Lucy was harboring great power. It would be amplified by her extra helping of divine blood from her mother. There was a non-zero chance that Lucy Isolde could become one of the most powerful half-bloods alive.

That prospect frightened Kat. She was a woman of science, of quantities and empirical evidence. She rarely put stock in things like “gut feelings.” But with what she felt when examining Lucy, even indirectly through her aura sense… It was hard not to trust them.

For she was certain she’d never met someone that felt so dangerous.

* * *

 

Lucy was close to nodding off on Percy’s shoulder when they reached the cabin he referred to as Eleven-One. Her throbbing leg barely bothered her anymore. The prospect of finding a place to sleep, even on the floor, was intoxicating. When he pushed open the door of the cabin to reveal a room full of bunks, she grinned, daydreaming about falling into one.

Her fantasies ended when she spotted the cabin’s sole occupants, two scrawny boys pinning a picture to the back wall, which was covered in pictures. They turned as she and Percy limped over the threshold. The taller one was unfamiliar to her, but the shorter one froze as they made eye contact.

The thief from the alley. The one that had stolen her knife.

Her fatigue vanished immediately. She kept her eyes locked on his as Percy helped her inside. She kept her gaze as neutral as she could. He seemed to be doing the same. His eyes didn’t hold the same fear or anger she’d seen in the alley. Now it seemed more like… respect.

“You got a free lower bed on this floor, Chet?” Percy asked the taller boy. “She won’t need it forever, just until her leg heals.”

“Yeah, sure. This one at the back is open. Though, Scott mentioned that he might be coming early to beat the rush. Not sure when that’ll be, but we can work something out.”

“Thanks.” Percy steered her to the indicated bed and helped her sit. “Just get some rest now, okay? I’ll have the satyrs find you some crutches before you wake up.”

Satyrs. Of course. One more thing that, naturally, was real.

“Thank you, Percy,” she said, though her attention was still on the thief. “And you, Chet, for the bed.”

Chet nodded to her with a grin she couldn’t trust. “No problem. Welcome to Cabin Eleven-One. We’ll be sure to give you a proper initiation when you’re better. For now, I’ll try to keep the place clear until tonight. Come on, Cael. We can adjust that part of the Wall later.”

Lucy caught the name. “Actually,” she said as the three men started for the door. “I’d like to speak with Cael before I nap. If he’s willing.”

Percy and Chet both looked at Cael. He still maintained that neutral expression, though she thought he may have gulped. “Sure,” he said. “Go on, Chet, I’ll be right out.”

Chet shrugged and left him, following Percy out into the sun. They closed the door behind them, leaving Lucy and Cael alone. She dimly recalled Percy mentioning a rule against a guy and girl being alone in a cabin. Barely a few hours in and she was already breaking rules. At least she was consistent.

Cael walked to the bunk adjacent Lucy’s and sat down. She could feel her fatigue on the edges of her mind, but she could pay it no mind at the moment. For a long, awkward while, they stared at each other, neither speaking or moving an inch.

Finally, Cael reached to his hip and drew a familiar blade of shimmering gold. Lucy’s heart soared at the sight of it. She was about to lunge for it, but Cael surprised her by flipping it in his hand and offering her the handle.

She paused mid reach. In the alley, when he’d told her to take it, he’d cut her hand. There was a new scar on her palm from that. But then, his eyes had been full of hate. There was none of that now. She reached slowly, watching him for movement. When she took the familiar grip in her hand and pulled it away from him, most of the tension she’d felt since waking finally eased. Not all of it, but most.

She held it in her lap, spinning it slowly. She tore her gaze from him to look at the blade. The fuller warped her reflection in its mirrored surface. The initials _A.I._ were etched into the handle. She whispered a phrase in Latin to it, and it seemed to shimmer for the briefest of moments. Part of her had expected a forgery, but this was her knife. No doubt about it.

“Why?” she asked without looking up.

“Could ask the same of you.”

There’d been such venom in his words in the alley. Such bitterness. She didn’t hear that now. Instead, she heard a hint of curiosity.

“I asked you first. Again: why?”

“Newton’s Third Law of Motion.”

She frowned up at him and found him with a tiny grin. “What does that have to do with it?”

“You asked _why,_ but not _why what._ Were you asking why stuff moves? I can’t be sure. You should try being specific.”

Lucy held his gaze for a while. “Hmph. Smartass.”

“Oh, _smart,_ I like that. Can I get that in writing? Chet’ll never believe it.”

She rolled her eyes and chose her words more carefully. “You gave this back to me.”

“I did. Good observation.”

She huffed, wanting to be indignant at his sarcastic tone and smirk. She found she didn’t care. At least he seemed to have relaxed. “Why did you give this back, without me asking for it?”

Cael’s smirk faded, though he stayed relaxed. He searched for an answer for a long minute. “It’s yours,” he said finally.

“Oh? That didn’t stop you from taking it, or refusing to give it back the first time.”

“No, it didn’t.” Cael bit his lip. “What happened was my fault. I shouldn’t have taken it. I… I admit, I was wrong about you. Sorry about all that. The stuff I said.”

“It’s fine,” she said. “Sorry about hitting you.”

Cael shrugged. “It happens. I deserved it. But Cabin Eleven has a code: don’t take something personal from another camper, and don’t take their weapons. I broke both of those before I showed up. So you get it back. No argument from me.”

Lucy nodded. She considered putting the knife away, but she couldn’t let go of it yet. Not so soon after getting it back. She continued to spin it between her fingers, relishing the feeling of holding it.

Cael cleared his throat. “I… wanted to ask you why, too.”

“Probably Newton’s Second Law. Or the Pythagorean Theorem.”

He gave a silent chuckle. “Alright, I deserved that. More specific… You saved my life.”

The knife slowly spun to a halt. Lucy stared hard at the gleaming blade. “I did.”

A pause. “You got hurt badly doing it. Like… _really_ bad. I don’t know how they saved your leg. You nearly died.”

Another pause. “I did.”

“Why?”

She looked up at him. His sky-blue eyes had a strange intensity to them that hadn’t been there before. They burned into hers, demanding an answer.

They were so different from the weary, resigned eyes she’d seen stare down a Laistrygonian’s fist.

She looked away. “You were in danger.”

Yet another pause, longer than the others. Cael seemed to be waiting for more. When it was obvious nothing else was coming, he said, “You risked your life to save mine. After I’d stolen from you. Insulted you. Left you defenseless against a monster. You risked life and limb, quite literally… because _I was in danger?”_

“Yes.”

Cael blinked at her. “But… why would you…”

“I just answered why, didn’t I?”

“Well, yeah, but that can’t be it, right?”

“Why not?”

“Because-” he started to get flustered, searching for the right words. “Because _why_ would someone do that? It doesn’t make sense, it-”

Lucy glared up at him, which silenced him quickly. “You needed help. I gave it. That’s all.” Her tone wasn’t angry, but it didn’t leave room for argument. She’d picked that up from her mother.

Cael clearly wanted to say something more, but forced it back with a sigh. “Fine. I don’t get it, but fine. I’ll drop it.”

Lucy relaxed. “Thank you.”

Hopefully, that would be the end of the discussion. Her fatigue was coming back in full force. Middle of the day or not, getting some sleep was going to be wonderful. She shifted further onto the bed, reaching to her splinted leg to pull it up.

“But still,” Cael said. “I owe you for it.”

Lucy froze in place. Her heart skipped a beat.

_No._

“No.”

Cael frowned. “Look, don’t tell me why you saved me if you don’t want, but I _do_ owe you for it, big time. I always repay a debt. If there’s something more I can do-”

“No. There isn’t.” She couldn’t keep a desperate anger out of her voice. “Forget about it. _Please._ ”

For a brief, hopeful moment, he seemed to back down. Then, his resolve came back, and he sat up straighter. “I can’t. Not when it’s my life.”

 _Gods above,_ _no._ Lucy turned away. She clenched her teeth and hands, squeezing her knife for comfort. It provided little. Not against what this _bastard_ was doing. She forced back tears, though one leaked out. Did the idiot not see what he was doing to her? Did he not understand?

“No,” she breathed, barely keeping her composure. “Give your life to something meaningful. Not me.”

Silence for a moment. Rustling on the adjacent bed. _Stand up and walk out. Just give up. Please…_

“...I saw you helping people in Brooklyn. Before I took your knife. A lot of them offered you payment. You refused. Every time.”

She said nothing. _Take the hint._

“I didn’t get it then, and I sure as hell don’t now. But, whatever your reason, it’s why I’m still alive.”

She closed her eyes and held her breath.

“You got really badly hurt doing it… but that didn’t seem to matter to you.”

_It should matter to YOU, you idiot._

“And… something tells me that kind of thing happens a lot with you.”

_Don’t say it. Don’t you dare say it._

Cael took a deep breath. “I don’t really understand why you do it, and I’m not exactly a fighter. But, as it turns out, we’re both half-bloods. I can learn how to help you. I swear, I’ll make it up to you, no matter-”

She whirled around on him, a growl slipping from her teeth. He shrank back at the glare she gave him, furious and streaked with tears. “You’re not swearing _anything_ to me,” she said, low and threatening.

Cael balked for a reply. “You… But I have to-”

“Get out,” she almost hissed, her voice cracking in a half sob. “Get out and forget it. Forget we ever talked, forget we ever met that monster, forget everything we did. You hear me? _Forget it. Move on with your life.”_

Cael blinked at her, horrified. “But you-”

_“Cael! Leave! Now!”_

Her shouting finally spurred him into motion. He jumped off the bed and scrambled for the door. She glared at him the whole way, so she saw when he hesitated at the threshold. Another look at her got him the rest of the way. He slammed the door behind him.

Lucy released a ragged breath. She choked on the next one. She set her knife aside and placed her face in her hands. And she wept.

That idiot. That thrice-damned idiot. Why couldn’t he be content? Why couldn’t he let it go? Why was he so eager to throw away what she’d given him to “thank” her? Couldn’t he see that it wasn’t worth it? Was that not obvious to everyone?

She prayed he’d take her advice to forget. She actually prayed, asking each of the Greek and Roman gods she could remember. But it wouldn’t work. It never did. They all thought like him, refused to be swayed even by her pleading. They wouldn’t offer in the first place if they weren’t certain of their conviction. Their awful, horribly flawed conviction. It’d be worse now, with them attending the same camp, sleeping in the same cabin.  He wouldn’t give it up. Not until it killed him.

Unless…

She brushed the tears from her eyes and nodded to herself with determination. She pulled her leg into the bed and flipped the covers over herself. It was much more cozy than her sick bed. She tucked her knife under her pillow and laid down. Despite her distress, she started to fade immediately. Her exhaustion came in full force to claim her, dragging her into sweet, numbing sleep. But not before the edges of a plan took shape in her mind.

Cael had hated her before. She’d seen it in his eyes, heard it in his voice. Perhaps that’s why he’d refused to give her knife back at first. That version of him wouldn’t care what happened to Lucy. He might even laugh at her misfortune.

If he’d felt that way once, he could again. Lucy just had to figure out how to get him back there. Back to hating her.

It was the only way to save him again.


	11. Eagle's Nest

_ “A dove takes an eagle’s nest. Fierce Warlord, surrounded and broken, bridge the gap. Stand united. The Endwar comes...” _

* * *

 

There were two things Victoria hated above all else: politics, and having her bath interrupted. Today, they conspired to try her patience.

“I’m sorry, Praetor,” the high, almost squeaky voice of one of her messenger girls said to her left. “He said it was very important that he speak to you at once.”

Victoria leaned back and gave a long sigh, her arms resting on the cool tiles of the bathhouse floor. The water rose to her chest, churning around her from jets installed on the bath’s bottom. It was hot, almost scalding, the way she liked it. In almost no time, the cavernous room had been filled with steam. Most of the other girls weren’t fond of that. Luckily, the bathhouse was completely empty at this hour of the morning. For five blessed minutes, she’d been alone with the heat to soothe her aches and worries.

Of course, duty had followed her. But she was accustomed to that. Duty never truly ended.

“Erm, Praetor-”

“I heard you, Nancy,” Victoria said. She finally opened her eyes and looked to the twelve-year-old standing at the side of the bath. Short, with freckles and glasses, her brown hair tied in twintails and a _probatio_ tablet around her neck. She’d been in Camp Jupiter for, what, all of three weeks? And yet she already wore a cavalry sword on her back like Hazel’s. It didn’t look like someone so small should be able to lift it, much less swing it. The new recruits seemed to get younger every year. Of course, that was probably just Victoria getting older. Had she seemed that small when she arrived?

“Well, um…” Nancy shifted on her feet, pointedly avoiding looking at Victoria. “What should I-”

“Tell me again, Nancy,” Victoria said calmly, not showing her irritation. No reason to take it out on the new blood. “Exactly what he said, as you remember it.”

Nancy fumbled at that. “Well, he… he said, um… ‘Gods damn, where the hell is she? Hey, _probatio,_ go find her and tell her I need to speak with her immediately. I don't care what she's doing! Tell her to hurry it up, I’ve got better things to do today.’” She grimaced. “I tried to ask him what he wanted with you, but… he said it wasn’t my business.”

Victoria set her jaw, trying not to scowl. Most of her supplicants tended to have that attitude, that she should be available to address their grievances at all times. That was, technically speaking, in her job description. If she’d known that ahead of time... If she’d known a lot of things about her job ahead of time…

It wouldn’t have mattered. She’d still be here anyway.

“Well,” she said finally. “Best not keep him waiting.”

Nancy nodded. “Should I go tell him that you’re coming? He said he’d be waiting nearby-”

“Oh, Olympus no,” Victoria said, sinking lower into the water. “This is clearly an urgent matter, no time to waste waiting on me. No. Go get him and send him in here.”

Nancy started, her eyes going wide. “P-Praetor?”

“I don’t like repeating myself, Nancy.”

“Y-you want me to send… a _boy_ in here? S-Shouldn’t you-”

Victoria waved her off, closing her eyes. “Be quick about it. The fate of the Legion could depend on this, for all we know.”

Nancy’s scampering footsteps clattered against the tile. Victoria kept her eyes closed, breathing deeply. Good kid, that Nancy was. Always did her job well, rarely complained or asked stupid questions. The other _probatio_ could learn from her example. Hell, the centurions could learn, too. Way too many complainers in the Legion these days. Unfortunately, most of their complaints came to Victoria.

Barely two minutes had passed before she heard faint rustling over the bubbling water. She opened one eye. Max was standing just inside the door, face bright red and eyes covered by one hand. “G-Gods!” Max sputtered, eyes still covered. “Why?!”

“Do I frighten you that much?” Victoria said, her voice neutral.

“N-No! Damn it woman, I could’ve _waited-”_

“You could have, really? That’s not what you told my _probatio._ ”

Max faltered. “I… Well, she was-”

“No, modesty will have to fall to such an urgent matter. Get in here, or I’ll have to assume your request isn’t important after all.”

Max sighed, but started into the room. He inched forward slowly, peeking out from between his fingers to see where he was stepping. He pointedly avoided looking at Victoria. He stopped next to her pool and fully covered his eyes again.

She allowed herself a smirk at that. At eighteen - the same age as Victoria - with a muscled physique, the symbol of Mars branded on his Legion tattoo, and the pin of a Senator on his toga, many people were intimidated by the Second Cohort’s representative. Seeing him squirm like that gave her no small satisfaction. She hid it quickly.

“Now,” she said, “let’s hear it. What problem could be so important that you had to interrupt my bath?”

Max licked his lips, his face still red. “Well… The Third Cohort-”

“Look at me when you speak, Max.”

He started. “W-what? But you’re-”

“Your Praetor, is what I am. Show some respect if you want me to listen.”

Max swore, but slowly lowered his hand and opened his eyes by the tiniest amount. He seemed relieved by what he saw - nothing below Victoria’s collarbone was visible through the churning, frothy water. He tensed back up when he met the intense stare she was giving him.

“Better. Now, again. What is this urgent, life-or-death, Olympus-threatening matter you absolutely needed to speak to me about?”

Max swallowed. “W-Well… Um… The Third Cohort-”

“Have they been decimated? Are they in mutiny? Something worse, perhaps?”

“Well, no, but… They’ve… Um…”

“Yes?”

He faltered. “Y-you know, it’s really not _that-”_

“It must be, if you felt the need to intrude on the girls’ bathhouse to tell me. You’re already here. Best tell me and hope I don’t think it’s a waste of time. I _will_ consider it a waste if you decide to walk out now. Spill it.”

He swallowed and took a deep breath. “Well… They’re… They’re trying to skip out on their fort duty. Um, Praetor.”

Victoria kept staring at him, completely unmoving, for another half minute. Max shifted his weight anxiously, trying to maintain his composure. He finally had to look away from her.

“...Fort duty,” she said simply.

“They’re trying to pin it on us instead!” Max said defensively, louder than necessary. “We already did ours last week, but they say that _their_ copy of the records show-”

“You decided,” she cut him off, trying to keep her voice level, “that you needed to come to me. During my bath. About _fort duty.”_

He frowned and stood taller, voice growing lower and more confident. “You may be Praetor, but if you think that I’m _-_ ”

She cut him off again, this time by standing and stepping out of the bath.

Max sputtered, his face turning the shade of a brick. He made to cover his eyes again, but paused as she came to stand in front of him. His hand fell slowly, his eyes bulging as he looked at her, not bothering to hide it. There was no lust there. It was surprise, with a hint of fear.

Despite his size, Victoria stood an inch taller than he did. Her brown hair was cut very short, much the same way his was, to keep it quick and easy to care for. Her eyes were that same shade of brown, her face rigid and blocky. Indeed, from the neck up, she had a lot in common with this son of Mars, exemplar of masculinity. Below that, she had little in common with anyone.

It wasn’t her feminine attributes that captured him so - she’d worn a plain two-piece swimsuit to the bath, as she always did. It wasn’t her lack of curves despite her age, or the refined muscles of her core, legs, and right arm.

No, he gawked at the dark, blotchy scar that enveloped her left side. It stretched from mid-thigh to collarbone, growing wider the farther up her body it went. At chest level, it wrapped around her torso from her missing left breast to her right shoulder blade. Her entire left arm was also covered, save for the tips of her fingers and the palm of her hand. The scarred skin was sunken, wrinkled, and almost completely numb to the touch.

Max stared at it, working his mouth, unable to find words. “I… Y-You…”

_Look. Remember that I will not be intimidated by you._

“You have exactly five seconds,” she growled, “to explain to me why a _Senator_ is incapable of resolving a dispute that even _fawns_ would find trivial.”

He tore his gaze away, hands fidgeting. He tried to look angry again. “I-I’m _not-”_

She stepped up to him and put a finger to his chest. “ _Y_ _ou_ will resolve this yourself, today, and I won’t hear about it again. If you can’t, then perhaps the Second Cohort should be represented by someone who _can._ Am I clear?”

He actually managed to meet her eyes again, though his false anger failed at her glare. “Y-You don’t get to-”

_“Am I clear?”_

He gulped, nodded, then turned and scurried out. She tried to feel satisfied at that. All she could manage was a weary sigh.

 _Well, I’m out now,_ she thought, grabbing her towel from the nearest bench. _So much for a peaceful bath._ She wrapped herself in the towel and returned to her private room in the Principia, connected by a hall to the bathhouse.

It took her another twenty minutes to get dressed. She didn’t care much about her appearance; her outfit just had to be so damned _elaborate._ The Praetor’s toga was much trickier to put on than a Senator’s was. It was supposed to be symbolic of the added complexities of the position. A fat lot of sense that made. The more complex position should be the one spending _less_ time fiddling with the bedsheet they wore to work.

She paused at her Praetor pin and turned it in her fingers. An eagle medallion, symbol of Jupiter. Worn only by those chosen, _destined_ to lead.

A great honor, they said. The greatest honor a Legionnaire could hope for. Greatest headache was more like it. This hadn’t been the medal she’d wanted. She’d overshot her goal. But when the cheering Legion had raised her up and named her their leader, she hadn’t been able to refuse. Not after what it had cost.

She couldn’t lose it now, no matter how much she wanted to. The cost of that would be far worse.

When she left her room, she found Will waiting for her with a smile and a clipboard. “Relaxing bath?”

She snorted, striding down the hall with him in tow. “Hardly. Who’s on the hitlist today?”

“You’ve got meetings with the centurions of the First and Fourth to discuss joint maneuver adjustments. Then some of the scribes at New Rome University want to discuss expedition funding, a few of the fawns want to make their usual pleads for access to the camp food stores… Ah, Senator Max Warben was saying that he wanted to speak with you about-”

“Taken care of,” Victoria said, rolling her stiff left shoulder. “Is there anything _not_ mind-numbing I can look forward to?”

“Hmm… Well, some smiths from Vulcan’s Hammer want to argue about the latest tariffs on Celestial Bronze imports from Camp Half-Blood-”

“I opposed those tariffs! Tell them to take it up with James, not me.”

“I tried telling them,” Will said carefully. “They’re not convinced. They’re still angry at you for the requisitions you shot down last month.”

“They wanted to make enough swords to arm half the Bay Area! Under no circumstance would we ever need that many.”

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration. They only wanted enough to-”

“Yes,” Victoria said with a heavy sigh. “I know. I know.”

Will grimaced and hustled his pace so he was next to her. Though he was eighteen like her, he was about a foot shorter than she was. By his scrawny frame, square glasses, and curly black hair, one wouldn’t immediately pick him out as a son of Bellona, who were stereotypically the burly warrior type.

Once you got to know him, his parentage made sense, for while he wasn’t much of a front-line fighter, he made up for that by being one of the best tacticians, strategists, and logisticians in the whole Legion. The type to command from the rear, rather than leading the charge. Though Roman warrior culture tended to frown upon that, Victoria was constantly grateful for it. Though she thought he was wasted as her glorified secretary, the weight of her many responsibilities would’ve been impossible for her to carry without him.

More than that… she often felt like he was the only real friend she had left.

“You need to talk to the smiths,” he said in a much lower voice. “They’re going to try bringing that requisition back up again.”

Victoria scowled at the empty hall. “They’d be stupid to try.”

“Victoria, please,” Will said with more urgency. “They have a large say in how the centurions will vote. You’d never win all of them, not now, but if you could just talk with them, try to get _some_ of them-”

“I won’t let them arm us like we’re going to war, Will,” she said quietly. “If I do that, that’s as good as declaring it myself.”

“Then try to compromise with them, at least! Let them have half, or even two-thirds, if that’s what it takes!”

“How is that better?” she stopped and turned to him, crossing her arms. “If I’m seen allowing ‘half measures’ and ‘precautions,’ I’d be handing James what he wants on a silver platter.”

“I agree with you, you know I do,” Will said with annoyance. “But not everyone does, and frankly, the Greeks aren’t helping. Percy Jackson himself skipping meetings to go chase newbies? And now an inquest into cheating during a _chariot race,_ of all things? People are angry, and James is taking advantage of that. So unless you know of a way to convince _them_ to sit in their cabins and not do or say anything for a couple months, you’ve got to try something else.”

“Oh? And what might this something else be?”

Will threw his hands in the air. “I don’t know. I wish I did, but I don’t.”

Victoria sighed and leaned against the wall. “I’m… sorry, Will. You’re right, I know. I’m just… not sure how to proceed.”

Will didn’t say anything for a long minute, staring at the floor. She didn’t mean to be so cross with him, but she was ever on edge these days. She knew he felt the same, but did a lot better job of hiding it. At least in his case, he’d volunteered for it. She really needed to do a better job at showing her appreciation for that. If she could figure out how.

“Well… we’ll find a way,” she said finally. “What else for today?”

Will looked at his clipboard and ruffled through some pages. “Um… Well, that’s everything that isn’t ‘mind-numbing.’ We’re not expecting any calls with the Greeks today. Once you’re done with the smiths, all that’s left is the Weekly Assembly.”

Victoria groaned softly. She _hated_ the Weekly Assembly. “Alright then. Let’s get it over with.”

The next part of the day dragged on. And on. And on. _And on._

Meeting after pointless meeting. Talk after useless talk with people - the literal sons and daughters of the gods themselves - who either couldn’t or _wouldn’t_ solve their problems on their own. Each of them bargained, begged, and argued like their individual woes were the biggest problem in the world.

She wanted to yell at them for wasting her time. There was a _war_ brewing, for Olympus’ sake. But instead, she had to smile and try to agree. Of _course_ the Fourth Cohort should take the flank on joint maneuvers. The University _should_ get better gear for their expeditions. The fawns _deserved_ to access the food for all the work they did. She had to make them feel heard, like their complaints had merit.

Then she had to deny them.

They never liked it when she did that. They called her out as a fraud, not standing up for their wants and needs. And yet, what was she to do? The First Cohort was _much_ more effective at flanking than the Fourth. Funding for new University gear was nonexistent. The fawns would devour _all_ of the camp’s food if allowed - and they never did _any_ work.

Victoria did her best to remain civil as they cursed her, screamed at her, threatened her. She couldn’t managed it for long. She never shouted, but she came close. Oh so close. Perhaps they could sense that storm brewing - they never stuck around long after she stopped playing nice. She always felt a smug satisfaction as they made their excuses and left.

The feeling never lasted long, for she knew it might cost her dearly.

It was close to noon when she stormed out of Vulcan’s Hammer, the factory-like building that was headquarters to the camp smiths. She started down the main thoroughfare of New Rome, the little city that stood within Camp Jupiter. The lunchtime crowds were heavier than normal. Citizens - from giggling toddlers to aging grandparents - made way for her. Everyone in the city bore _some_ amount of divine blood, though some of the youngest children were legacies _six_ generations removed, and would never display any powers. Yet, everyone here had, was, or would serve in the Legion, and they recognized the Praetor’s garb, if not the woman herself. Though, the ones who’d never seen her before probably recognized her too. Her appearance was… distinctive.

Some of the people gave her bows as she passed, the older ones mostly. Most were content to simply give her a nod. A few greeted her with, _“Draconicida.”_ Their title for her, given at the same time as her station. These days, she’d rather be without both. Were it so easy.

Will caught up to her down the street, huffing and red in the face. “That… That didn’t go as well I’d hoped.”

Victoria’s scowl deepened. “It never does. Still think I should’ve compromised?”

Will shook his head, frowning as well, though not as deeply as her. “Gods, no. If you’d even _suggested…_ James must’ve put them up to that. This… this isn’t good.”

“Oh? No kidding.”

“They might keep new weapons from the cohorts unless they turn on us,” Will said. “You’ll have to speak with our allies, give and get reassurances. Maybe try to butter them up some.”

“Ah, yes. Let me just bribe all of our allies into not betraying their ideals at the drop of a hat.”

Will frowned at her. “You know that they-”

 _“Yes, Will,”_ she said through grit teeth. “I know. I’ll deal with it. Just... give me some space. Please.”

Will’s expression was grim, but he nodded. “Alright. I’ll meet you at the Assembly, Praetor.” He turned and cut through an empty side street, heading toward the barracks of the camp proper.

 _I wish he’d stop calling me that,_ she thought. Almost nobody used her name anymore. Just titles she didn’t want. Will occasionally still called her Victoria, but only when they were alone, as he wanted others to “show her the respect due her station.” Like anyone other than he and her _probatio_ assistants still did that.

A few of those harried her in the street, carrying messages from more people demanding meetings. She turned them all away, claiming important business. With her head pounding and patience frayed, she wanted nothing more than to collapse in her private room and bar the door. Instead, she left the city and went across the valley, toward Temple Hill.

Shouts and clashing metal drew her attention to the Fields of Mars, the vast plain where the cohorts trained and played war games. The banners of the Third, her home cohort, were out there now, assaulting the fort constructed at the Field’s center. The Seventh’s banner hung from the battlements. Squads from the opposing forces clashed in the pits and trenches that marred the barren landscape.

The Third seemed to be having a rough time of it; their formations were all wrong, and a failed flanking maneuver had left them divided and trapped. Their centurion wasn’t exactly renowned for his battlefield presence, and his officers were little better. Still, there were visible opportunities to turn the tide yet. If the eastern squads refocused their archers to the wall, and the western ones were to try a less direct approach against their entrenched opposites, exploit that gap in their line…

Victoria looked away and suppressed a pang of longing. It wasn’t her job to think about such things. She had to be focused on more important matters.

Her breath was heavy from the midday heat when she crested Temple Hill. True to its name, its hillside was covered in structures meant for the worship of the gods, ranging from majestic temples to single-room shrines. Many more of the latter were here now than when she’d first arrived twelve years prior - Percy Jackson’s deal for recognition of minor gods had been extended to include the Romans following the Giant War.

Her destination was the largest temple at the top of the hill, trimmed in gold and ornamented with lightning bolts - the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus. It was more a pavilion than a building, open so the wind could get in, with a sixty-foot high domed ceiling supported by white columns. The tiled floor was covered in mosaics and Latin inscriptions dedicated to the Lord of the Sky and Heavens. In the center, a golden statue of Jupiter stood upon a marble altar, draped in violet robes and clutching a lightning bolt. Victoria felt the hair on her arms and neck stand on end beneath the statue’s gaze.

She knelt at the statue’s feet and bowed her head. She didn’t make any distinct prayers; the King of the Gods was not someone to make demands of. Nor would Victoria’s pride allow it. Despite being the child of a god, she wasn’t particularly devout. She wasn’t about to start pretending to be for the sake of getting something she wanted. Mostly, she sought to get away for a bit and clear her head. No one would bother her in here if they thought she was praying.

Yet… There were other places she could go for a moment of peace. Being in this temple, devoted to the leader of Olympus and the world… She hoped that it might give her some insight. Make her understand what she was doing wrong.

Her home was on the brink of war. She’d managed to stall it, for now at least. But she was slipping, day by day. Will was right - if she didn’t change something, it would pass out of her control. But she didn’t know what to change, or how to change it. There was merit to her opponents’ criticisms of her. Many of them had been born for this, given right to lead by way of their divine blood. It came naturally to them.

Not her. As in all other things, she had to learn how to play their games on her own. Trouble was, it wasn’t a game she was good at learning.

Victoria emerged from the temple a short time later having no revelations, but feeling much calmer of mind. That was essential for facing the Weekly Assembly, which was due to start soon. Already she could see toga-clad people making their way to the Senate House from all across the valley. Best to head down there early and offer Will an apology for being so short with him earlier.

She paused at the top of Temple Hill to regard her mother’s temple. One of the larger structures on the hill, it was a squat rectangular building whose stone columns were wreathed in chiseled roses. A carved relief above the door displayed a bird with wings splayed. Unlike the hard lines and fierceness of Jupiter’s eagle, this bird’s curves were softer, its open wings inviting rather than threatening.

It had been months since she’d been there last, to make the Praetor’s required offerings for the Feast of Fortuna. When she’d last gone voluntarily… she couldn’t recall.

She turned away and walked down the hill.

The Senate House was bustling with activity by the time Victoria arrived. Groups of Senators clad in togas and emblems of their stations clustered around the floor and tiered seating of the main debate hall. A few gave her nods as she passed, but the majority seemed to snicker at the sight of her. What was that about this time? Nothing so amusing that they’d keep laughing when she caught them. She grit her teeth and ignored them. Nothing she could do about that.

She didn’t find Will anywhere in the main hall. Perhaps he’d gone to the Senate offices to set some stuff in order. She took a side hall leading in that direction, glad to be away from people’s whispers and chuckles.

She ended up wishing for them back in short order.

“Ah, Victoria! There you are! I’ve been asking around for you.”

Victoria froze, jaw clenched. Gods, that voice… She forced herself to exhale through her nose and make her face neutral. Just another headache of her position. More of a migraine, really, but one she had to handle. Her goals depended on it.

She turned to face the voice’s source and gave a curt nod. “James.”

James smiled in that way so many girls found disarming. “Your meetings went well, I trust?”

She didn’t bother trying to smile back. “Yes, they went fine.”

“Oh, so I’ve heard. Though… I must wonder if you’re being professional.”

“And what does that mean?”

James chuckled. “Oh, it’s just a rumor. I’m sure it’s nothing. It wouldn’t be proper of a Praetor to be taking appointments from the _bath,_ now would it?”

His electric blue eyes were on hers, watching her carefully for a reaction. She gave him none, suppressing the urge to punch him right in his stupid, allegedly-handsome face. So many people lauded him as the ideal Praetor. Blonde hair, square jaw, nearly as tall as Victoria and in good shape, though not as good as a career warrior. Cunning, quick with his tongue, and possessing a sound mind for politics. Jupiter’s favored son, born to be a leader.

A leader who wanted to lead their people to war with their allies.

“No,” Victoria said with forced civility. “It wouldn’t.”

“It’s good to hear you agree. Perhaps we can put an end to those horrible rumors. Seems that Max Warben has been saying you tried to _seduce him_ to get your old cohort out of fort duty.”

Her hands clenched, and she couldn’t keep the scowl off her face. “I didn’t-”

“Oh, don’t worry,” James waved a dismissive hand. “No one who truly knows you would believe that kind of slander. One of your sisters, maybe, but you… Well, you’ve never been one for your mother’s arts. Unless you’ve decided to start practicing?”

She sighed explosively and closed her eyes. Gods, how she wanted to punch this man… But he would love that. Still, she couldn’t feign civility with him any longer. “Is there a reason we’re talking, or did you just want to _practice_ being an asshole?”

James glanced down the hall. When he saw it was empty, he dropped the polite act too. His smile remained, but it was more of a smirk. “I was hoping you’d given some thought to my offer.”

“Take your offer and shove it.”

He snorted. “Stubborn as always. That’s why you’ll never make a good leader.”

“And what makes a _good leader_ to you? Marching our people off to kill their friends for nothing?”

“You refuse to admit when you’ve _lost.”_

She gave him the most threatening glare she could manage. “I haven’t lost yet.”

“Not officially, perhaps,” his smirk turned into a frown, but he didn’t look away. “But you can’t keep up. How many cohorts will listen to you without their weapons? You preach about Roman pride and dignity… but how many will listen to you about dignity with your, quote, ‘ _attempts at seduction?’”_

Victoria cursed him, and herself. Her simple act of intimidating Max had been turned on her. She hadn’t even considered that possibility. “I’ll find a way,” she said more certainly than she felt. “I won’t let you ruin Rome’s pride, even if it costs mine.”

“ _Y_ _ou_ ruin Rome’s pride, Vicky.” He smirked as she bared her teeth; he knew she hated that nickname. “Rome didn’t seek to appease those who insulted her. She put her enemies in their place.”

“Rome fell because she worked to subjugate rather than cooperate. The Greeks are _not our enemies.”_

“In your mind, perhaps. Our people disagree.”

“Not all of them.”

“Not yet, no. But when they do, can you accept it? Praetors are meant to speak for the people, after all, which is what I intend to do.”

He didn’t bother hiding it with her; she already knew what his game was. He didn’t really believe that the Greeks needed to be dealt with. Power was all he really cared about, which meant that he would cater to the majority’s desires, regardless of what he believed. Even if the majority’s desires were fueled by irrational grudges and lust for a fight.

“The people might see some sense, if you didn’t goad them on just so you can keep your precious job,” she practically spat the last word at him.

James shook his head, his expression turning serious. “You despise this. I know you do. And frankly, you’re terrible at it. That’s nothing to be ashamed of admitting, Victoria. Most people just aren’t cut out for this. You wouldn’t have made it here if it’d been up to an election. Hate me all you want, you know it’s true.”

She grit her teeth, though she didn’t have a retort for him. There _was_ truth to that.

“The people see that, even your allies. They don’t love you as their Praetor, but they _do_ still remember your… exploits. Please, consider my offer again. Step down, take a position as centurion. That’s what you really want, right?”

Victoria pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. “I thought you believed I wasn’t _cut out_ for that, either.”

Jason scowled. “I’m not the only one, but that’s irrelevant. The Third would accept it, that’s all that matters. Give up this lost cause, this job you hate so much, and go to something you actually want. Something you could… perhaps be good at.”

From anyone else, it may have been a tempting offer. But she was _not_ about to prove him right. Not when she knew he was so wrong about the war. Especially not when she feared he might be right about her.

“I won’t surrender to your bribes,” she said. “This isn’t over yet.”

James sighed. “Fine, then. Let’s see how long you can keep afloat. If you decide you’ve had enough, the offer’s still on the table.” With that, he turned and walked toward the debate hall.

Victoria stood rooted to the spot, glaring at the floor with heavy breath and closed fists. Talking with him always did that to her. Why had she been paired with _him_ of all people for this job? It made her thankful that they weren’t in the times before the Giant War, when the camp had been a lot smaller. Back then, the Legion had only been a few hundred strong, rather than over a thousand, and the two Praetors hadn’t needed to divide their attention among the affairs of a massive camp. Reyna had said that it used to be common for Praetors to pursue romantic ties because of how closely they’d worked together.

Just thinking about the concept made Victoria nauseous.

Will found her still fuming when he emerged from the offices with fresh papers on his clipboard. He approached slowly. “James?”

Victoria exhaled. “Yes… I’ll be fine.”

She could tell he didn’t believe her, but he nodded anyway. “Alright. We should head in now. Almost time to get started.”

She fell in beside him to go to the debate hall. “I’m… sorry for earlier, Will,” she said.

“It’s okay, Victoria,” he said softly. “I get it. You don’t have to apologize.”

“I do. You do too much. I shouldn’t snap at you.”

“Honestly, I’d rather have you snap at me than anyone else. It’s good to vent that frustration on something.”

“Still… I’ll try to do better.”

“I know. It’s okay. Let’s focus on the meeting.”

“Right,” she said. Gods, he was a better friend than she deserved. She really needed to find some way to thank him for all that he did.

The debate hall was nearly full when they arrived. The tiered seats were bustling with people in Senator togas accented in a variety of colors to distinguish their positions. As the camp had grown, so too had the size of the Senate. In addition to the two Praetors and centurions from each of the ten cohorts - expanded from the original five - each cohort elected a representative for their administrative affairs who also held a Senate seat. Then there was the current camp Augur, leaders of guilds like the smiths and scholars, and various demigods chosen to represent the interests of their godly parent, often by the gods themselves. A few extra functionaries from New Rome served to give the Senate an even one hundred seats, excluding the Praetors. Not every seat was filled at the moment, as the summer session hadn’t started yet, but the majority of Senators tended to be the year-rounders.

In addition, off to the side of the main seating was a box for distinguished alumni. Frank and Hazel Zhang sat there, looking weary but determined. The Greek ambassador - a tall daughter of Iris named Rose - sat next to them, which dissuaded people from glaring at her. Normally Reyna Ramirez-Arellano was with them, but she was absent on a diplomatic trip to the Amazons. Though everyone treated the alumni with the respect they were due, the pro-war faction tended to ignore what they had to say. The alumni had the same rights to speaking and debating as every other Senator, but they had no voting power, a measure intended to “give new generations a chance to lead themselves.”

Victoria frowned as she and Will took their seats in the Praetor’s box. A lot of sense that rule made. They wanted to avoid being ruled by experienced heroes, so they could instead be ruled by children who had no idea what they were arguing for. In the sea of Senators, most of them were around fourteen or fifteen. A horrible age, filled with irrationality and hormones. Yet that was the vast majority of both camps these days, the source of their explosive growth. After winning the Titan and Giant Wars back to back all those years ago, the gods had celebrated in the best way they knew how, and this was the result. A generation of demigod baby boomers.

That would’ve been great, if that generation wasn’t so eager to prove themselves in a real fight.

After a few minutes, James stood, and the hall quieted. “Welcome, friends and colleagues,” his voice boomed through the chamber, full of charisma Victoria wouldn’t admit she envied. “We have a rather busy docket this afternoon, so let us not waste time. First, the Augur will offer his weekly prayers and readings.”

What followed was the typically dull opening to the assembly, where the Augur offered a prayer for wisdom to the gods and presented the stuffing of a pillow pet for reading. He declared, as usual, that the next week would be one of tension, that something dark loomed just over the horizon. The younger Senators always got worried looks at that. Victoria just rolled her eyes.

“Now, the first order of business,” James said. Victoria tensed and prepared to stand, but then he said, “The issue of stewardship of gardening plots between the children of Ceres and the children of Bacchus.”

A plump boy from the Eighth Cohort stood, a canteen in his hand and red in the face. “We _traded_ for those plots! Those liars don’t-”

“You didn’t trade us what was promised!” A short girl from the First stood in response. “You told us you would…”

Victoria zoned out for the debate that followed. She moved her eyes from person to person, trying to evaluate her current position. A war vote would need two-thirds majority to pass. At her last accounting, her current anti-war allies made up two fifths of the current Senate. Too close for comfort. This new scenario with the smiths was going to mean trouble.

Of course, if a war vote passed, she could veto it as Praetor, and the assembly would need a three quarters majority the following week to overturn it, in addition to the support of the other Praetor. But that was a given. There was also the fact that, if she used her veto on the war vote itself, she wouldn’t be able to use another one until after the first was resolved, meaning James could pass a lot of other measures in that week to arm and mobilize, measures that required a much smaller majority. Once he got that momentum going, a lot of her allies would consider flipping.

On top of that, once the summer session started and the bulk of both camps finally arrived… Things could go downhill quickly. James would do all he could to manipulate the summer campers’ mostly untainted views. It also made it more likely that the Greeks would either screw something up to provoke the Romans, or start the fight themselves. That was Victoria’s biggest worry. If the Greeks declared first, there’d be nothing she could do. She tried to have trust in their anti-war voices, but that was getting harder lately. Percy Jackson - hero of the Titan and Giant Wars - skipping out on meetings to chase new bloods was making it difficult to have faith.

“...motion is carried,” James was announcing. “The revisions on barrack layout and cleanliness etiquette pass, and will be instituted beginning on the first of June. Any objections?” No one said a word; everyone in the hall seemed pleased. A rare sight, that was.

Victoria leaned toward Will. “Sorry, I spaced out again. I miss anything important?” She whispered.

“Nah,” he said with a shrug, looking as bored as she felt. “Though, the barrack regulation will be nice. Too stuffy and filthy in the summer with so many of us. That should help a lot.”

Victoria nodded. The cohort barracks in the summer were usually a nightmare of bodies and unwashed clothes and bedsheets. The old regulations were meant for the smaller Legion of Frank and Hazel’s days. She hadn’t had to sleep there in the two years since she’d been Praetor, but Will still stayed with the Third Cohort. “Who drafted that one?”

“Erm, James did.”

She raised an eyebrow and sat straight again. James did look pleased with himself as he signed a document, written in Latin that every Roman demigod could read without trouble from dyslexia. He slid it to her with a smile, and after a quick skim to make sure it didn’t contain anything unsavory, she signed as well. He _was_ a good statesman, she could grudgingly admit. If he wasn’t so hellbent on war…

“Now, onto more delicate matters,” James said, growing serious. “The issue of the Greek inquest into accusations of cheating during our _friendly_ chariot races.”

The room immediately burst into a shouting match. The Greek ambassador, Rose, climbed out of the alumni box and went to the podium at the center of the room, trying to get everyone’s attention. A couple of pens and wads of paper were thrown at her. James watched with a neutral expression, not even trying to moderate.

Victoria sighed and held a hand out to Will. He was already set to hand her a simple obsidian horn. She stood, and when the shouting still continued, she put the horn’s tip in her mouth and blew.

A fierce, booming _roar_ filled the hall, silencing everyone. They all turned to look at her. Some with nods and respect. Many with apathy, or snickers, or outright anger. Well, let them hate her, or laugh if they wanted. They only did so because she spoke sense rather than what they wanted to hear.

“Order!” she shouted. “Our guest has not personally wronged us, and she _will_ be treated with respect, and allowed to speak.” Her booming voice was not charismatic, but _commanding._ These were not Senators to be convinced. They were children to be chastised.

A few of the Senators mumbled, but they didn’t argue. James sat down and folded his hands in his lap. He wanted to see if Victoria could handle this. She’d prove him wrong. She’d done it before, she could do it again. Hopefully. She handed the horn back to Will, and he tucked it away in his backpack.

“Now,” Victoria addressed a grateful Rose. “You have a statement from Camp Half-Blood?”

“I do, Praetor.” Her voice was firm, and she didn’t seem nervous about addressing such a hostile audience. She unfolded a sheet of paper and cleared her throat. “I swear upon the River Styx that the contents of this letter are exactly as I read them, and that its intentions are pure, honest, and do not stretch farther than anything that is explicitly stated within.”

Thunder rumbled through the building, and Victoria nodded her approval. “Continue.”

“‘To our allies and friends of Camp Jupiter,’” Rose read clearly. “‘I expect word has already reached you regarding the allegations made against your chariot teams by members of Camp Half-Blood. Efforts to resolve this without a formal process have failed. Please understand that we take any and all allegations of cheating during competitions very seriously, regardless of the participants involved. As such, we will be moving forward with an official inquest into the event.’”

Some of the senators started shouting at her for that, but a quick order from Victoria forced them back to gnashing their teeth. Rose continued, “‘However, we do acknowledge that biases often play a substantial role in due process, and we wish this to be resolved in a fair fashion that is satisfactory to both camps. As such, we would like the inquest’s investigative team and committee to be evenly split between Greek and Roman representatives, with Chiron as mediator and tie breaker.

“‘We have already selected and screened three of our campers for this role, each of which is as impartial as we can reasonably assess, possessing no familial, friendly, business or training ties to any of the charioteers, or anyone else directly involved in the event in question. They have sworn oaths on the River Styx to accept no outside influence on their analysis or decision making to the best of their abilities. We request that you do the same within a week’s time, if possible.

“‘The investigation of the event site and initial witness accounts will be held in Camp Half-Blood, and at your approval, the formal hearing will be held in Camp Jupiter. Both teams of charioteers will swear oaths to accept the judgement of the committee, regardless of its decision. If these terms are acceptable to you, or if there are adjustments you wish to make, please contact either myself, Percy, or Chiron as soon as possible, and we will discuss the formal arrangements and process further. We look forward to your cooperation on this matter. Signed, Camp Half-Blood staff, Annabeth Jackson.’”

Rose folded up the letter and looked to Victoria. Victoria nodded slowly, assessing the crowd. “I find these terms agreeable. Does anyone object?”

A few of the pro-wars muttered, but none seemed ready to jump up and argue. As was par for the course with Annabeth, she’d been very thorough in ensuring a fair deal. Gods bless that woman. Even the most ardent complainers wouldn’t offer complaints if they couldn’t think of any, though most of them would prefer an unfair deal weighted toward Camp Jupiter.

But even if they couldn’t complain about the deal, they could still complain about the Greeks.

“It seems a waste of time,” Violet, centurion of the Sixth and staunchly pro-war, said with crossed arms. “If those Greeks had a _proper_ competitive process, they’d have gotten oaths against cheating from the contestants, and we wouldn’t have to bother with this.”

Much of the Senate nodded, including Victoria’s allies. She did have a point. Camp Jupiter had such a rule, but Camp Half-Blood’s legislative process was a lot more… _lax_ was putting it lightly. And Styx oaths only worked for swearing things you _would_ do, not things you’d _already done,_ so if the cheaters swore on the Styx that they hadn’t cheated, nothing would happen.

It _could_ have been as simple as making the contestants swear that they wouldn’t lie, and then ask them if they’d cheated, but the Romans liked to be thorough. The inquest team would analyze and tailor the oaths the contestants would swear to ensure there were no loopholes, then do the same for each of their questions. A much lengthier process than Victoria felt necessary, but that was how bureaucracy tended to make things. So much of their diplomacy depended on Styx oaths that no one wanted to take any chances.

Of course, this was all predicated on the assumption that no one would willingly break their oaths. But that was a given. The gods tended to get off easy when they broke theirs, but everyone else… Victoria hoped never to meet the type of person insane enough to try it.

“We’re not discussing the Greeks’ processes,” Victoria said. “We’re discussing their proposal for cooperation on this inquest. If no one has further objections, then we may consider the motion carried.”

“Who will do the selection and screening of our representatives?” Someone off to the right asked.

Victoria considered that. “It would seem their alumni were the ones to select theirs, as they would be the most impartial. We should do the same.”

A lot of people nodded at that and looked to Frank and Hazel. They both stood and nodded in return. “We’ll take care of it,” Hazel said. “We’ll need the names of our charioteers and their work and training assignments.”

“I’ll see those delivered to you,” Victoria glanced at Will. He gave her a nod and jotted down a note on his clipboard.

“Centurions,” Frank’s voice boomed through the room. Even when not standing next to his petite wife, the former centurion and Praetor had a towering presence. “We’d appreciate your assistance in this, if you have suggestions for possible candidates.”

Though most of the centurions were pro-war and Frank was strongly against it, they gave him respectful nods. Hard not to be respectful of a son of Mars and legacy of Poseidon that had saved the world, and could _shapeshift._

He’d occasionally directed training drills for the cohorts, showing them how he led and fought in his days. As a _probatio,_ a common legionnaire, and even as an officer, Victoria had been in awe of him. So at home on a battlefield, being in charge of others. So confident in his command and skill. Never doubting himself.

Of course, he was a son of Mars. He’d been born into that.

Frank and Hazel sat down, and the discussion turned to the mundane aspects of the deal and process. After a good fifteen minutes of bickering, Victoria called it to a halt. “Enough. We can discuss this further once our representatives have been chosen. Rose, find me after dinner. I’ll have a formal reply drafted for you by then.”

Rose nodded, then cast a worried glance at James. The rest of the room followed suit, Victoria included. There was a heavy tension to the room, a powder keg waiting to be lit. Usually, after discussing matters related to diplomacy with the Greeks, James brought up the debate for a war vote. Today, he just looked at Victoria and gave a subtle shake of his head, his expression unreadable.

 _He usually uses whatever weekly outrage the Greeks cause to fuel that argument,_ she thought. _Maybe he doesn’t bring it up now because I defused the inquest issue. Heh, bet he didn’t expect that... Or… Maybe he feels like he doesn’t NEED to bring it up, for some reason._

She wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or anxious about it.

“Well,” Victoria broke the silence. “If that’s everything, then we can vote to adjourn for the week.”

“Wait,” Rose called, pulling out another, smaller note. “I have another note here from Annabeth. She says it’s not state business, but a personal request.”

She cleared her throat and read the note, not bothering with any Styx oaths this time. “‘Camp Half-Blood has recently taken in a previously undiscovered half-blood in New York City. Her divine parentage is uncertain, but we have very strong reason to believe that her mother, now deceased, was a Roman demigod, specifically a daughter of Bellona. At Lucy’s request, we ask for any information Camp Jupiter can provide about her mother, Alicia Isolde, that Lucy may come to proper terms with this revelation. Your assistance is greatly appreciated.’”

The hall didn’t burst into chaos again, but it did fill with muttering. “I don’t trust this request,” someone said to the left.

“Neither do I,” Violet said, scowling at Rose. “A legacy of Bellona belongs here. If she wants to know about her mother, she should come herself.”

“I’m not sure I’d trust her,” Max - the son of Mars Victoria had met in the bathhouse - said. “The Greeks have probably already turned her against us. Whatever ‘information’ we give them will probably be twisted to make us look bad.”

“You really believe that?” Marcus - one of the cohort reps in Victoria’s alliance - asked. “They said they don’t know her parentage. Her dad could be Greek, for all we know.”

An argument started between Max and Marcus. Several other voice pitched in. Victoria should’ve put a stop to it, but she didn’t. She was too busy staring at the far wall, racking her memories.

_Isolde… Isolde… How do I know that name?_

“...heard the rumors?” Max was saying. “Four _y_ _ears_ late? I don't buy that. Something’s up with this. We shouldn’t give them anything, or they’ll just-”

“Enough!” Victoria said, silencing the room. “This isn’t an issue that requires Senate approval. Rose, I’ll find what we have and get back to Annabeth, you have my word.”

Rose smiled and nodded, but several incredulous Senators tried to argue. She ignored them. Eventually, they calmed enough that they were able to vote to adjourn for the week. People glanced at her and shook their heads as they left the building. James gave her a smile before he and his assistant followed. Victoria sat in the Praetor box and watched them go, still focused on the name.

Will turned to her. “Well… that wasn’t exactly a popular decision.”

“I don’t care. This girl… Lucy, was it? She has a right to know about her mother.”

Will sighed, but nodded anyway. “Alicia Isolde... I’ll find her records in the archive and see what we can send to Camp Half-Blood.”

“No… I’ll do it myself.”

“Huh? Why?”

“I don’t have any pressing meetings, do I?”

“None that I know of, but… Did you know this Alicia, or something?”

The name was a dim echo in her mind. Something to do with… Victoria’s father? She couldn’t be sure how, but she _had_ heard the name before. To hear it again amidst everything that was happening… She might not be devout, but she definitely didn’t believe in coincidences.

“I’m not sure,” she mumbled. “But I’m going to find out. Take care of the arrangements for the inquest, please. I’ll meet you at the Principia later.”

Will clearly wanted to say more, but accepted the dismissal and left her. She sat alone in the spacious hall for a few more moments before rising. She climbed down the tiered seats, then went to the hall she’d confronted James in earlier, which led to the archive stairs just past the office.

The actual archive itself was a dimly lit warehouse of a room. Books and files cluttered row upon row of shelfspace. Unlike the library at New Rome University, this room was completely empty of people - it only contained records relating to past campers, Senate hearings, and other tedious drudgery. A computer database would have been a lot easier, but half-bloods had to learn to get by without electronics. Even a demigod using a cellphone would put every monster in ten miles on high alert.

A layer of dust coated most of the shelves, but the records were all neatly sorted and arranged. For a camp full of ADHD-ridden teenagers, that was a heroic feat unto itself. People usually only came down here to add new records, so keeping it neat wasn’t much of a task, but it had taken a lot of work to _make_ it this neat in the first place. The cataloguing and sorting had been done by children of Trivia, back when they were around. If they still were, there might be enough campers to fill out another cohort. They might have scholars and arcanists to solve all manner of problems. But they were… gone.

Victoria grimaced at the memory of Trivia’s children. They’d ranged between nervous and paranoid back then - their numbers had been steadily dwindling for years. The camp could do nothing as they all died off to seemingly random accidents and monster attacks. Victoria’s friend Melody had been one of the last to go, having allegedly drowned in the Little Tiber. They’d only been ten years old.

Since then, no new children of Trivia had been found. The gods were silent on the matter. Rumors differed on the exact cause, but the general consensus was some kind of curse. Considering the same thing had happened to the children of Trivia’s Greek form, Hecate, that was the only thing that made sense. Unlike with Camp Jupiter, there was _one_ surviving child of Hecate in Camp Half-Blood, but… From what Victoria had heard, that wasn’t something to envy.

Victoria shook her head and refocused on the name. Alicia Isolde. She browsed through the Latin labels on the endcaps until she found the alumni records. Luckily, they were alphabetized instead of sorted by year, so the file was easy to find.

She hesitated as she pulled it from the shelf. She glanced over her shoulder, but she was alone in the room. What was this… anxious feeling in her gut? She tried to suppress it, but it persisted. Why though? What exactly was she expecting to find? What did the name mean to her? Only one way to find out. She flipped the file open to the first page and studied Alicia’s photograph.

Blonde hair, gray eyes that burned with determination. Feminine enough facial features, though a bit rough in places - that was typical for children of war gods. The face didn’t ring any bells in Victoria’s mind, not that it was a memorable one. She glanced over the basic information and turned to the next page, an account of Alicia’s time at camp and noteable exploits.

Victoria wasn’t surprised by what she found. Alicia had distinguished herself in the decade prior to the Titan War, particularly in combat, as well as tactics and strategy, past what an average war demigod could do. She’d risen through the ranks at a rapid pace, attaining centurion of the Second Cohort at age thirteen, a record back in those days. She’d won a number of war game medals and had even undertaken a quest to slay the gorgon sisters. All of this while being a summer-only camper.

But Bellona had been her parent. Her skill had been natural.

After the summer of Alicia’s twenty-second birthday, the mandatory age for graduation from the Legion, she’d also graduated New Rome University with full honors in physical training, then moved to Seattle. After that, the record only continued for another half-page, which listed some minor contributions in the Titan War prior to her death. The bottom half of the last page held a heartfelt eulogy and farewell to a fallen legionnaire.

 _With laurels of gold, we lay you to rest,_ read a note in Latin at the very end of the record. _We thank you for teaching us to be brave. I thank you for helping a scared girl find her place. May you find peace in the fields of Elysium, sister. Legion Fulminata._

Below that was a sloppy signature that took Victoria a long minute to parse: _Reyna Ramirez-Arellano._

Victoria closed the file, her brow furrowed. It seemed like Alicia had just been an accomplished legionnaire dead before her time. Would her daughter be glad to hear that? Victoria couldn’t know, but the anxious feeling in her gut persisted. She felt like she was missing something, but what? The record said nothing about her courting a god or having a daughter, but most personal records didn’t pry into affairs outside of camp, and she’d clearly never brought her daughter back here. What else could it be?

 _I should ask Reyna more, when she gets back. She must’ve known Alicia well, from that note,_ Victoria mused, putting the file back and starting down the aisle to the door. _Maybe Alicia was like her mentor. That would make sense, considering Reyna’s record, and judging by the timeframes, Alicia would’ve been around twenty or twenty-one when Reyna first found the camp at thirteen. To have someone take you under their wing like that, only suddenly lose them one day…_ Victoria shuddered at the thought. _Reyna’s stronger than I ever knew, if she could lead people through the Giant War carrying that grief. Can’t imagine what her daughter must have… felt…_

Victoria stopped at the end of the aisle.

_Wait…_

She turned and rushed back to the file. She flipped it open and double checked the dates listed on the first page. Then she flipped to the last page and reread the final part of the record. She checked both pieces a few more times, just to make sure she wasn’t mistaken.

_What in the name of Olympus… Killed in Action… winter of the Titan War? But then..._

Max had mentioned rumors during the assembly debate. Victoria had heard them too, but hadn’t paid them much mind until now. They said that the Greeks were cross with the gods due to the discovery of two previously unknown half-bloods, four years past the time the gods should’ve notified either camp about them. It was almost certain that Lucy, the one naming Alicia as her mother, was one of them.

But that didn’t make any sense. ADHD or no, the scribes at New Rome University who wrote these personal histories were very thorough about their work. They took pride in it. It was unlike them to make even minor mistakes, much less a discrepancy of this magnitude. Victoria couldn’t rationalize it.

She still didn’t know why she’d recalled the name, but that didn’t seem to matter much right now. Instead, she’d stumbled across something she felt to be important, though she couldn’t explain why yet. She slid the file back and rushed out of the archive in search of Will. She doubted he could explain it any more than she could. Because if the rumors and everything in that file was true...

Four years past the deadline meant Lucy Isolde was born seventeen years ago.

And according to the record, her mother had been dead for eighteen.


	12. Hidden Blades

_ “Hunter of man and monster, shoulder the crown. Might unmatched, will unyielding, a river of blood. Reap the rewards of your faith.” _

* * *

 

Scott Manhen’s first thought upon waking was that getting up at five AM should be illegal. His second gave him enough excitement to override the first. In under a minute, he was out of bed and dressed in his orange t-shirt, bead necklace, and shorts. He slung his duffel bag over his shoulder, brimming with enthusiasm. The day he’d been waiting for all year had finally arrived.

He found Mom already awake in the kitchen. She gave him a sad smile and handed him a heaping plate of hot breakfast. He wolfed it down quickly, hardly tasting the food.

Mom shot him a disapproving look. “You forget your manners already?”

Scott swallowed the last large bite. “Sorry, mom.”

She started cleaning up, taking his empty plate from him. “I know you’re excited, but you don’t have to be in such a rush. Camp will still be there however long you take.”

“I know, I know, sorry,” he said impatiently. He was itching to get going. He jumped up from the table and grabbed his bag.

Mom stopped him before he could reach the door. “You’re sure you have everything?”

“Yeah, everything.”

“You’re _sure?”_

“Yes, I’m sure.”

She stared at him for a few seconds, then pulled something from behind her back. It was a knife, with a blade made of gleaming bronze. Scott’s cheeks turned red. “Oh, uh… I thought I had another one lying around...”

Mom sighed and handed it to him. “I don’t like you leaving so early. Camp doesn’t even start for more than a week.”

“Yeah, but these were the cheapest tickets I could get before it starts,” he said as he stashed the weapon in his duffel. “I don’t want to miss anything!”

“I know…” she pulled him into a tight hug. “I want you to call me when you get there, and at least once a week.”

Scott returned the gesture. “I will, I promise.”

Their hug lasted for over a minute. Scott was antsy to leave, but knew better than to cut it short. They wouldn’t get to see each other again until the end of the summer, and she missed having someone else around the house. When she finally pulled away from him, her eyes were watery. “Okay, you’d better get going. Have fun, but be careful, okay?”

“I always am.” He hefted his bag and went for the door. “Don’t have too much fun without me!”

“Bye honey! I love you!”

“Love you too, mom! See you later!”

Scott took a deep breath of the cool morning air as the door closed behind him. The sky was just beginning to lighten, and the small Iowa town was quiet and still. He couldn’t hold back a smile as he stepped off the porch. School was over, and he’d finally get to go back to Camp Half-Blood. He could hardly wait to tell Chet about all the pranks he’d pulled. And all the pictures! It’d been a productive year for him in that regard.

With a skip in his step, he headed for the center of town, where a bus would pick him up. After that, it was only a two hour ride to the airport in Des Moines. Maybe, depending on how crowded his plane was, he could rustle up some spending money for out-of-camp food. He’d always prefered New York food over anything Iowa had. The first thing he planned to do was grab Chet and hitchhike to their favorite pizzeria on Fifth. He’d waited nine months to taste that again.

If Scott hadn’t been so occupied with salivating over an imaginary slice of pizza, he might have seen the movement along the rooftops to his left. The shadow that landed without a sound in the grass behind him. The scarred hands as they reached for his neck.

Yes, he might have seen. But if it would’ve mattered… that was a different question entirely.

The bus left town one passenger short.

* * *

 

Hunter could tell a lot about a person by the knife they carried.

There was something to be said for other weapons, of course. Someone’s preference between a sword and a mace would tell you a good deal. But those were big and showy, meant to be seen. They told the story their user wanted them to.

The true measure of a warrior was in what they _didn't_ show. Was their knife’s edge smooth for combat, or serrated for utility? Was the blade thin for slipping between ribs, stout for breaking mail, or wide for drawing blood? How long was the blade? How weathered was the handle? These answers painted the most honest portrait of a man, if one knew to ask them.

When it came to Scott Manhen, Hunter didn't have to look hard for answers.

He waited against a tree on top of a moonlit hill. Stalks of growing corn rustled in the breeze, the fields stretching out in all directions until they vanished into the horizon. Lights of farms dotted the landscape, and flashes of fireflies became less frequent as the eastern sky began to lighten. The whole land was flat - too flat. The hill was the highest point for miles around.

Hunter ignored the scenery, focused on the knife in his hand. It danced over, under, and between his fingers as he studied it. He already had it figured out, but he could be waiting here for a while yet. Nothing wrong with rechecking his assessment.

Blade made of Celestial Bronze: from Camp Half-Blood. Mid-length, symmetrical hollow-grinds, milled fuller along the spine: meant for direct combat use. Leathered grip with no signs of wear or fraying: owned a short time, or rarely used. The letters _SM_ scratched into the handle, but with what looked to be an _H_ scratched beneath the _M_ : stolen, and sloppily covered up.

What did this tell Hunter about Scott, the demigod he’d come to Iowa seeking? Parts of it he’d already known; typical of a son of Hermes to have a stolen blade. But why had Scott stolen this one specifically? Part of a prank, perhaps. Or random impulse; his kind didn’t have much self control.

Or maybe to feel like a proper warrior by having a knife meant for fighting. Something to boost his ego. Hunter smirked at the notion. Hermes kids couldn’t fight worth a damn. This poor, beautiful tool had been little more than a decoration, something to show off and boast about. Even with its previous owner, it had likely never drawn blood or seen a real battle.

Ironic, then, that it would soon start a war.

A _nudge_ at the back of his mind ended his musings; it was time. The knife spun to a stop between his fingers, the handle coming to rest in his scarred palm. He pushed up from the tree and brushed off his leather armor, then ran a hand through his short black hair. He set his jaw in a neutral expression and gave a short huff. He reached with his mind to the insistent _nudge_ and took hold of it, drawing it to the forefront of his consciousness.

 _“Contact accepted,”_ he said, the ancient words resonating in his deep baritone.

A shimmer appeared in the air in front of him. It stretched vertically until it was as tall as he was and touching the ground. It split and expanded outward, opening a window to another place. At the sight of the figure on the other side, Hunter knelt and bowed his head.

“My queen,” Hunter said with a hint of reverence.

“Rise, Hunter.”

He stood and was met with her intense gaze. Others quaked beneath it. Not him, for she was not to be looked upon in fear, but respect. Though, he supposed respect and fear were often two sides of the same coin.

There was irritation in her eyes, but it faded quickly. “You have good news, I trust?” she asked, her voice a high alto.

Hunter nodded. “I got him. No witnesses. Delivery’s coming your way.”

“He had what you need?”

He held up the knife in one hand, and pulled a bead necklace from his pocket with the other. “It’ll work.”

She nodded. “Well done. It’s almost time to set the bait. Summer sessions for both camps begin soon. Once they’re both full of angry demigods, a single spark is all they’ll need.”

“I’ll head back west, then. Stake them out, make a plan. I can have it for you the night the sessions begin, if you wish.”

“No, not so soon. Give them a week more, see if they find a spark of their own. We can pluck our prize from the wreckage.”

Hunter raised an eyebrow. “You think they will? Last I heard, the Romans were at an even split. Unless something’s changed in the last week.”

The queen smirked. “The Falken girl is still holding out, but her influence is waning. I have it on good authority that she may not hold the Praetorship much longer. We may get a declaration out of Camp Jupiter yet. As for the Greeks…” she chuckled. “Apparently, Jackson himself caused offense by running off to chase some new recruit. Give them enough time and they’ll dig their own graves.”

He grunted, though he didn’t share in her amusement. “Let’s assume they don’t. Are we certain this is the best course of action? We risk exposing ourselves to them with a move this bold.”

“You doubt your ability?”

“No, I refuse to underestimate theirs. Not everyone will be fooled, especially not Chiron. He’s sure to respond.”

She nodded slowly. Others would have taken the queen’s plan without question. Not Hunter. Most often, her plans were sound, her reasoning beyond doubt. Hunter just preferred to hear it before setting out. It was part of what made him so effective.

“Yes, you’re right,” she said finally. “By their track record, they’ll likely dispatch a quest in response. When they do, I’ll leave them to you.”

“And in the event we _are_ exposed?”

She smirked. “Undesirable, to be sure, but that matters much less than it once did. We’re prepared for that now, if it comes. This is a bold move, but I believe that it’s finally time for us to be bold. My plan is already in motion. It begins with you, Hunter. You let me worry about what may come. You focus on doing what you do best.”

Hunter nodded. As usual, her answer satisfied him. “Alright. I’ll contact you when I reach the Bay Area.”

The queen nodded. In unison, they performed a salute, touching their right fists to their right shoulders. _“Life and solace,”_ they said, the ancient words thrumming with power. The window in space closed, leaving Hunter alone on the hill again.

He huffed, rolling his shoulders. He let Scott’s bronze knife dance between his fingers a moment more before slotting it with the other knives on his belt. He glanced up at the stars to orient himself and turned westward.

Hunter tapped Endurance.

He grunted as his body shifted. His muscles shrank, becoming less bulky and more lithe, more toned. His heartrate spiked, then dropped much lower. His leather armor shifted with him, conforming to his altered body shape. He didn’t prefer this form, but he pushed it as far as it would go; he had far to travel.

Once the transition was finished, he paused to stretch his legs. Then he started running.

Down the hill and into a corn field, following between two rows of waist high crops. He maintained that smooth stride through field after field, mile after mile, never once breaking form or even getting heavy of breath. His pace wouldn’t win him any footraces; it would likely take him the better part of two weeks to reach his destination. Others called that foolhardy, a waste of time.

He relished it. The more time he had to himself to think and plan, the better. His timetable was flexible, and his quarry wasn’t going anywhere.

And once he finally arrived, they’d be in for a very rude awakening.


	13. Kindred Spirits

_“They came from nothing, they return to nothing! The prisoner; the shattered one; the mantle no divine may claim!”_

* * *

 

_Draw with your first three fingers._

Cael slipped his pinky off the bowstring. Index above the shaft, two below. Thumb at rest.

_Pick a consistent anchor point._

Raise bow. Draw to his cheek. Shoulders squared, back straight, feet apart. Sight down the shaft.

_Breathe._

Exhale. Relax. Release.

_Thud thud thud thud thud._

Arrows struck the line of targets with an unsteady rhythm. Cael lowered his bow and squinted down the sunny range. A seven. He grinned. Probably nothing that could compete with the Apollo kids, but still better than the Hermes average. Not that that was saying much.

He took another arrow from the basket in front of him, but didn’t nock it yet. Instead, he turned to the guy in the stall right of him and continued their argument. “Look,” he said, “there’s _no way_ Master Chief beats Doom Guy, he’s not even-”

“Have you _played_ Halo, Cael?” Emile said, turning to him and lowering his bow. “Dude’s a freaking machine, they call him _the Demon-_ _”_

“Uh, yeah,” Jasper cut in from the stall left of Cael’s, “but Doom Guy _kills_ demons.”

“I think in terms of weaponry,” Natalie said from the other side of Emile, “Chief wins if he gets Covenant tech-”

“But Doom Guy has the freaking gauss cannon, and if he gets the BFG-”

“Now that’s unfair, no BFG…”

The argument continued for some time, occasionally pausing for another round of shots. It got more heated as people down the shooting line chipped in. After a passionate exchange about the merits of demon slaughter versus alien slaughter, Chiron barked at them to stay focused. They reluctantly complied, though Cael and Emile gave each other looks that said, _we_ _’ll continue this later._

Cael took his next shot with a broad smile. He fist pumped when he scored an eight. A warm sunny day, a bow in his hand, nerdy conversations… This was good. Life was good.

“Well, you know your games, at least,” Emile said quietly, nocking another arrow. “You _acquire_ them, or just have a generous family?”

Just like that, it all threatened to come crashing down.

The gate shuddered violently. His body went rigid. His eyes shut. His breath came in ragged gasps.

_Inhale. Count to four. Exhale. Count to seven._

Hints of faces. Voices. Sounds and feelings that he’d... No, they didn’t belong to him, they _didn_ _’t…_

“Cael? You okay?”

Emile’s voice. The bow in his hand. The sun on his face. Camp, surrounded by friends. Safe.

_Inhale. Count to four. Exhale. Count to seven._

“I lived on the streets,” he said.  He opened his eyes and took another arrow from the basket. He nocked it and pulled it back to his cheek.

Clear afternoon skies. Green grass, the distant ocean shimmering blue. Fresh strawberries on the cool breeze. Light conversation, the laughter of friends. A nice _tug_ from his bowstring. Good draw weight, this bow had. Made shooting it all the more satisfying.

“Oh,” Emile said. “So… I guess you never knew your…”

The rest of what he said was lost to the breeze.

Cael sighted down the arrow’s shaft. The glare from the bronze head was distracting. Eyes downrange, locked on the target. A farther distance than he was accustomed to. Shoulders squared, back straight, feet apart. Breathe.

 _Inhale. Count to four. Exhale_ _…_

Release. _Thud._

He lowered his bow and squinted down the range. He blinked and checked again. Bullseye.

Cheers erupted from the nearby Hermes kids. They rushed into his stall, ruffling his hair and slapping him on the back. The sudden mass of bodies was overwhelming, but it was something tangible. Something to latch onto.

The gate finally quieted.

Chiron trotted over, his white coat gleaming in the sunlight. Though it had been a little over a week since Cael’s arrival, seeing him in full centaur form was still disorienting. It helped to focus on his human half, with his scraggly beard and frayed tweed jacket. Easy enough to pretend he was some old teacher sitting on a horse.

“Well done, Cael,” Chiron said after quieting the Hermes kids down. “You’ve improved remarkably quickly. I’m considering moving you into a more advanced class, perhaps with Ares or Apollo, if that’s something that interests you?”

Cael didn’t consider that long before shaking his head. “Nah, I’m good here. If that’s okay?” Cael’s friends wooped at that.

Chiron shrugged. “As you wish. Anyway, it’s time for this group’s break. Next group up!”

Cael got a few more back pats as he passed his bow off to another Hermes kid stepping up to the shooting line. He joined Emile, Jasper and Natalie by the water station. The rest of their shooting group milled about by the equipment racks or sat on benches. Though there were several dozen targets on the range, the Hermes cabin had enough people that they had to split up to shoot. Cael could only imagine what it would be like when the summer kids arrived over the next couple of days.

“Good one, Cael,” Natalie said between sips of water. “Been a while since one of us managed that.”

“Yeah, where’d you learn to shoot so well?” Jasper asked.

Emile eyed him carefully. Cael just shrugged. “Like I said, street kid. Had a _lot_ of spare time. I may have… _acquired_ a few bows.”

The others laughed. Cael took several large gulps and wiped his brow. It wasn’t that hot, and archery wasn’t that much of a workout. Yet, he felt like he’d sprinted at least a mile. What he’d give to lie down and nap, to feel nothing for a while…

“So that’s what you were doing those years you were late,” Emile said. “You were practicing so you could swoop in and show us all up!”

Cael chuckled. “Yep, you got me. All part of my master plan. Next I just have to start a revolution against Chet’s tyranny.”

Their laughter and jokes about it eased his anxiety some. He’d been concerned he might not fit in due to his late arrival. He still didn’t have any answers about that, but it didn’t seem to matter much now. Not that he could tell, at least. Unless it was in jest, no one brought it up anymore.

Well… not about _him,_ at least.

He chanced a glance at the shooting line. Lucy stood in one of the stalls near the end, seeming flustered as Chiron showed her how to hold a bow properly. Several arrows stuck out of the grass yards in front of her target. Not a great way to start off her first training session since she’d woken a week ago. But they’d have close combat training later, and after seeing her against the giant…

Emile caught him looking. “Hey, Cael, what’s the story with you and her, anyway?”

He tore his gaze away. “What story? There really isn’t one.”

“Oh come on, dude, there’s gotta be _something._ You two both being super late, just _happening_ to show up together, and her attitude towards you since she woke up…” Emile elbowed him with a smirk. “Do something stupid getting here to piss off the lady friend?”

Cael glared at him. “It’s not like that.”

Emile chuckled. “Alright, alright. But you at least _know her,_ right? So what’s her deal?”

Jasper and Natalie also seemed curious. Though their hair, eye, and skin colors varied, it was uncanny how many of the Hermes kids bore appearances similar to his. He still wasn’t fully accustomed to that. “I don’t know her, no. What do you mean by ‘her deal’? Like, just towards me, or…”

Emile’s eyes flicked in Lucy’s direction. Though she was out of earshot, he still lowered his voice. “Well, she’s… you know…”

“…what?”

“She’s…” Emile shook his head. “I don’t know, dude, she just seems… off, you know?”

“Yeah,” Jasper muttered, looking in Lucy’s direction. “Gives me the creeps.”

Natalie grunted. “Imagine being in the bunk next to her… Gods, I wish Scott would show up and take his bed back…”

“You were claimed right away, at least,” Emile said, looking at Cael. “But it’s been a week, and she _still_ hasn’t been claimed. Newbies always get claimed within a week, and on top of her being so late…”

Cael bit his lip, then decided to ask, “What do you guys make of her? With our, um… _talents._ _”_ It still bothered him that his instincts for reading people might not be entirely skill, or all that unique.

Emile pursed his lips. “She feels… like stealing from her would be a _bad_ idea.” The others mumbled in agreement.

There it was again. _Dangerous._ Cabin Eleven felt it too.

Troubled, Cael looked to where Lucy shot, struggling to hit the target even with Chiron’s help. A few open stalls separated her from the rest of the shooters. At lunch, she sat alone at one of Cabin Eleven’s extra tables, though there had been room at the others. Perhaps the carefree attitude of the Hermes kids annoyed her; she seemed like a serious person. Or maybe she still hadn’t acclimated to this “half-blood” business and needed some space to process things.

Or maybe she felt as uneasy about them as they did about her.

“What do you think it means?” Cael asked.

Emile shrugged. “I don’t know, dude. Best case, she’s some Roman kid who ended up here by accident. More likely, she’s some Roman kid who ended up here on purpose.”

“You think she’s a _sleeper agent?_ ”

“I don’t know man, she could be. You said you don’t know her, right?”

“Well, no, but…” It _was_ a possibility, but Cael found it absurd, for some reason.

“Honestly, I’d rather have that be true,” Emile’s expression darkened. “Cause worst case… We end up with another one like _that._ _”_

Cael turned to follow Emile’s gaze across the yard towards Cabin Group One. He was looking at the building in the bottom right corner of the rectangle, constructed with dark stones covered in strange writing. Cabin… Twenty, by Cael’s count. He hadn’t taken notice of it before now - he’d never seen anyone go in or come out.

He’d heard only passing rumors about its sole occupant, the so-called “witch” of the Hecate cabin. He’d assumed what he’d heard was exaggerated. Yet, the edge in Emile’s voice, the way he looked at that distant building…

“What’s _she_ like?” Cael asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

The others grew distinctly uncomfortable at that question. Emile bit his lip and stared at his cup. Jasper leaned in close, his voice soft. “She’s a soul stealer. She’s not human. Don’t get too close, or you’ll end up like Maria.”

A soul stealer? Not human? They didn’t allow that sort of thing in the camp… did they? “What happened to Maria?”

“Hey, that’s enough of that,” Chet snapped at them as he walked up to the cooler. He hadn’t shot with Cael’s group, and he still hadn’t with the second, instead pacing and staring at the ground. He got himself some water, shooting Jasper a glare that didn’t have any weight behind it. “You know Chiron’s rule. Don’t spread rumors, even if she’s…” Chet cleared his throat. “Anyway. I’ll tell you some other time, Cael.”

The others relaxed. Cael frowned at him. Though Chet was Cabin Eleven’s Head Counselor, it was rare to see him treating the role as more than a joke. “You good, Chet?” he asked.

Chet took a moment to answer. “Yeah, fine. Just…” He looked off towards where the Big House sat on its hill. “Scott should’ve been here by now. He kept saying he was coming early…”

Plenty of stories were told about Scott, Chet’s partner in crime and co-mastermind behind the Wall of Pranks. Cael’d been eager to meet a prankster with such a strong reputation. But with the summer session officially starting in two days, there wasn’t much time left to show up early.

“You think… monster trouble?” Cael asked, the word _monster_ still unfamiliar on his tongue.

Chet grimaced. “Could be… I’m gonna try Iris Messaging him again. If not, then… I’ll try his mom. Gods, this better not be some stupid stunt of his… Tell Percy I’ll be late to the arena.” With that, he excused himself and left the shooting range, heading towards the distant Big House.

That happy departure killed the mood. The four of them shifted uneasily, looking for something to say. A couple attempted jokes fell flat. Hard to joke your way out of worrying about someone being eaten monsters.

“Well,” Emile said to Cael and Natalie. “At least I don’t gotta do laundry today.”

“You don’t?” Cael asked. Emile’s laundry pile was mountainous at this point.

“Yeah, dude. Lucy’s gonna do it for me.”

“Dude, _really?_ _”_ Natalie said. “Man, creepy as she is, she’s handy to have around.”

“Why? She’s good for activities now.” Cael had noticed Lucy helping around with cleaning and laundry in the last week. He’d assumed that would end once she’d recovered enough to do other stuff.

Emile shrugged and grinned. “Doesn’t seem to matter. She promised me she’d take care of it at canoing this morning. All I had to do was _ask._ _”_

Cael frowned. “You… just asked.”

Jasper chuckled. “Yeah, dude. We’ve been testing it for a couple days. Far as we can tell, she’ll do almost _anything_ if she thinks it’s helpful. Don’t know if she’s trying to suck up or what, but hey, if it means Emile’s stink gets cleaned!”

The others laughed with him. Cael didn’t. He looked over at Lucy, trying and failing to shoot alone while Chiron aided somebody else.

 _Why help them when they treat you like that?_ he wondered. _Why help me?_

She’d been cold to him since shouting him out that first day. His attempts to talk to her were met with rude replies or no reply at all. She didn’t act that way to anyone else. Trying to convince him not to pay her back, maybe. Part of him was tempted. Why’d she have to be such a jerk about it when all he’d been was grateful?

It didn’t matter. Stealing was one thing, but borrowing and favors were completely different. Jerk or not, Roman sleeper or not, debts had to be repaid. If not, they’d come back around with interest.

Try as he might to forget, he knew that better than anyone.

* * *

 

_Draw with your fingers._

Lucy tried the grip as Chiron had showed her. It was… two above, two below? Was she not supposed to use her thumb?

_Pick an anchor point._

What had he meant by “anchor point?” She raised her bow and drew back slowly. The arrow’s fletchings stopped at her ear. How was she supposed to stand again? Were her shoulders right? She tried to take aim at the target, which had been moved much closer for her. Zero of the holes in it were hers.

_Breathe._

She took a deep breath in and let the string go. One of her fingers caught as she pulled them back. The shot went wide, sailing into the gap between targets.

_Nine misses so far. Nine shots total._

Lucy nearly swore in frustration, lowering her bow and breathing hard through her nose. Chuckles came from down the line. They were right to laugh. Why couldn’t she manage this when Chiron made it look so easy?

 _“Don’t complain,”_ a stern voice said in her memory. _“Lives depend on you. Pick it up and try again.”_

After another minute to calm herself, she nocked another arrow and tried again. It also missed, going too high and sailing over the target, but it was closer. Progress, no matter how little. She couldn’t expect to nail it on the first day, but she couldn’t be lax about it either. She took another arrow.

Chiron trotted back over. “That was closer, Lucy. But you’re too tense when you shoot. You’ve got to relax.”

She bit her lip. It wasn’t just when she shot. When had she last truly relaxed? Not since coming to camp, for sure. She’d been on edge since she’d woken up a week ago, even with her knife safely at her side. She’d figured she was going stir crazy, stuck in the cabin with her injuries. Doing activities didn’t seem to help so far.

Even doodling made it worse. Her most recent work stuck in her mind. A tall, scowling figure that even her chibi style couldn’t make cute, with black leather armor, bulging muscles and a pair of knives in his scarred hands, with more on his belt. She’d done similar doodles at Yancy, and even before that. Nothing to take note of.

Except it was all she’d been able to draw for the last four days. The same one on repeat.

“Why don’t you take a quick break?” Chiron said. “Some water might help.”

Lucy sighed and lowered her bow. “Maybe… Thanks, Chiron.”

He nodded with a warm smile. “Don’t be discouraged, Lucy. I’ve seen half-bloods start worse and become expert archers. Gods, if you’d seen Heracles the first time he shot…”

Lucy smiled, though part of her was disturbed at remembering just how old Chiron was. “I’ll try harder,” she said, setting the bow against the arrow basket. He gave some more reassurances before trotting down to a younger Hermes camper having trouble. She really did need to try harder, if only so Chiron didn’t have to waste time on her when others needed him.

She walked to the water cooler. The group standing there wandered off when they saw her coming. She noted Cael among them, turning away when she caught him looking. Though her throat felt tight, she tried to be satisfied at that. He’d finally stopped trying to approach her. All it had cost was some rude - if forced - comments. If he wasn’t back to hating her yet, he would be with time to stew.

Except… the others seemed to be heading that way, too.

Lucy sighed after a long drink of cold water. That did clear her head some, though she was still tense and stiff as a board. She did some light stretches to loosen up. She needed to be limber for her first close combat training after archery. She couldn’t deny a bit of excitement at that. To be able to hold a sword again, after so many years…

Like her mother had once. A centurion in the Roman Legion. A champion of war games. A slayer of monsters. Lucy had been in awe when Annabeth read her the accounts received from Camp Jupiter. And not a little nervous. Happy as hearing all of that had made her, perhaps it only added to the stress. Pressure to live up to her mother’s legacy.

 _All those times you insisted you weren_ _’t a hero…_ Lucy thought, brushing a hand against her knife. _Yet you were one of their greats. Why would you say that? To make me feel better if I couldn_ _’t live up to you?_

She shook her head at that. Mother had never lied to make Lucy feel better. She’d been blunt and to the point. No time to waste veiling words when people could need you. So what had she meant? And her last words of advice…

Lucy’s train of thought was interrupted by soft peals of laughter above her. A group of small figures flitted around in the air, each in the form of a young woman. They were all partially translucent and gave off  glows that were faint in the afternoon sun. With no visible wings, they soared in circles, chasing each other and giggling. A few of them swooped down to snatch things from indignant campers. One stuck her tongue out at Lucy. She was too awestruck to be offended. What were these little things? Fairies? Some kind of nature spirit she hadn’t seen before?

One flew down and landed cross-legged on the water cooler, staring out toward Lucy’s unblemished target. “You’re getting better at that,” the spirit said in a soft voice akin to a whisper on the wind.

Lucy blinked, surprised she could talk. “I haven’t even hit the target,” Lucy said, lowering her voice so only the spirit could hear.

“Not yet, maybe. Every journey has to start somewhere. It will come, if you keep trying.”

The spirit beamed at Lucy. Like her sisters, this one bore the form of a young woman and was only the size of Lucy’s hand. However, this one had long hair that flowed to her shoulders in ringlets. Instead of a short-cut dress covered in leaves and vines, she wore flowing robes trimmed with simple embroidery. While the ghostly forms of the others looked green, this one’s was a muted gold. She didn’t seem as energetic or whimsical as her fellows. Some higher ranked spirit, maybe?

The spirit’s smile and words were oddly calming. A bit of Lucy’s tension eased, and she smiled in spite of herself. “I plan to. Just needed a quick break.”

“Breaks are good, both for the body and the mind. You should take more of them.”

Lucy didn’t agree with that, but said nothing. She took another long drink and watched the other spirits fight over a stolen hair clip from one of the Hermes girls. She jumped for them, trying to snatch it out of the mob of floating bodies kicking and snapping over it. One broke free with the clip and zipped toward the cabins, laughing maniacally. The rest gave chase, their screams fading beneath the breeze. The disgruntled girl cursed and went back to her laughing friends.

Lucy expected the gold spirit to go with them. She didn’t even glance in their direction, instead moving to sit on Lucy’s right hand. There wasn’t any weight to her, just a slight tingle on the skin where she sat. She looked to the laughing Hermes kids, and her smile fell. “Why don’t you join them?”

The question surprised Lucy. It took her a moment to reply, “They… don’t want me there.”

“How do you know that?”

“They say things about me.”

“Untrue things?”

That was the kicker, wasn’t it? “No… I _was_ late. I haven’t been claimed. I’m… creepy. Weird.”

“According to you, or to them?” The spirit regarded her with a solemn expression.

Lucy narrowed her eyes. “What does it matter to you?”

“I care when no one else does.” Her eyes locked on Lucy’s. “You’re that way too, aren’t you?”

Lucy touched the knife on her hip. The odd calm the spirit brought her had vanished. She looked away, moving to refill her water cup. “Find someone else to care about,” she muttered. “Someone needs it more.”

Something _zapped_ her hand. She gasped and dropped her cup, spilling water on her shorts. Lucy swatted at the spirit and missed; she was now hovering over the cooler, arms crossed. “Someone else is thirstier than you are,” the spirit said. “Does that mean you shouldn’t drink?”

“That’s different,” Lucy rubbed the red spot on her hand.

“How so?”

“I need water to live.”

“And you don’t need someone to care about you to live?”

“I…” Lucy paused, her voice dropping to a whisper. “No.”

“Why not?” the spirit asked, her voice equal parts scolding and curious. “Humans are social creatures by nature. They need to feel like they belong, like they matter to somebody. What’s so different about you?”

Lucy couldn’t respond. The hollow ache in her chest, ever at the edges of her awareness, took center stage. With it came a dark fog that settled into her mind, smothering happy thoughts and bringing gloom in its wake. It sapped her will to do anything but curl up and wait for it to pass. It made even doodling seem like a herculean task. Why bother when her childish creations were of no good use to anyone?

She’d spent a lot of days trapped in that darkness, trying to remember the light. She’d gone through the motions of training, schoolwork and patrol out of routine, when all she really wanted was to find someplace quiet to lie down and forget everything. Sometimes, she questioned why she couldn’t break free of it for long. Why she couldn’t live up in the light forever, like everyone else seemed to.

She stopped questioning when she thought of the marks. Seven reasons why.

Her left hip ached dully.

“Wanting people to care is selfish,” Lucy finally muttered. “A hero only cares about others.”

The spirit hovered up to Lucy’s shoulder and settled down with a sad expression. “Are you a hero, Lucia Isolde?”

Scars burned as though fresh. Her shaking hand touched the one on her cheek. “…No.”

The spirit gave her some pats on the shoulder she could barely feel. “There are many who would disagree with you on all counts, child. You’ll see that someday.”

Lucy frowned at the spirit smiling up at her from her shoulder. “Why do you care so much? Who are you?”

The little golden woman chuckled. “A friend who has an interest in your well-being, even if you don’t. But one thing at a time. For now… The best way to care for you is to give you someone to care about.”

Lucy scowled at the evasive answer. “Oh? You’re going to start telling me who to care about now?”

“You’re welcome to ignore me, but I don’t think you will. I do know of a soul that needs someone to care. A kindred spirit, you might say.”

“Who?”

The spirit nodded at the other campers. Lucy noticed then that the range had gone completely silent. Everyone there, Chiron included, was staring up the hill towards the cabins. Lucy followed their gaze. She double-taked and gasped.

At first glance, the approaching figure looked like some kind of ghost. She wore jeans and an orange camp shirt, as many campers did. But her hair was stark white, her skin so pale that it practically glowed in the afternoon sun. Her age was hard to guess, as she was on the shorter side, with arms so scrawny as to be almost skeletal. She had eyes as pale as the rest of her, with a face that may have been pretty on someone else. A sort of silvery sheen glinted on the back of her right hand. Her other hand toyed with a silver pendant around her neck with a purple gem set in its heart. Her colorless lips moved as she approached, as though she was muttering to herself.

A chill crawled up Lucy’s back. Monsters gave her a similar feeling, but this… this was the distinct unease of looking at something unnatural. Something that shouldn’t be.

Around the range, mutters and whispers started. Some of the Hermes kids glared at the pale girl with a surprising amount of venom. One boy even shouted, _“Witch!”_ several times before Chiron stared him down. He called for the whole range to quiet and trotted over to the girl as she arrived.

“Ah, good afternoon, Kat,” he said, his voice kind, but his face neutral. “Good to see you out and about. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

The pale girl, Kat, smiled at him, seeming unperturbed by the others’ hostility. “Fresh air and some sunlight to cure a clouded mind,” she said in a high soprano. “It’s been some time since I last practiced. Is there room on the range for one more?”

The muttering turned into jeers and protests, some of which were vile enough to make Lucy cringe. Chiron shouted at them to be respectful or face a straight week of stable duty. That got them all to shut up, but they didn’t stop their glares. Kat just continued to smile.

“…Yes, we’ve got several free spots with the second group. Feel free to join us.” He glared at the Hermes kids for good measure.

Kat nodded. “Thank you. This will help a great deal, I’m sure.” Chiron raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.  Was there something more to that?

Lucy licked her lips. “Is she…” she whispered.

“Yes. She’s the one they call the _witch of Hecate,_ _”_ the spirit said from Lucy’s shoulder, her voice colored by sadness.

Lucy had never seen her before, but… She’d overheard some things. Awful things, mostly. Calling her _inhuman_ or _soul stealer._ And those insults they’d thrown at her, in front of _Chiron,_ no less? What could make so many people hate someone so much? Was it the way she looked? That couldn’t be her natural appearance… could it?

After some coaxing and threats of more cleaning duty, Chiron managed to restart the shooting. Kat had taken the stall on the farthest left of the shooting line, so everyone else had shuffled as far right as they could get, leaving eight open stalls between them and her. Conversation on the line and in the break area halted. Some of the shooters paused between shots to glare in her direction, despite Chiron snapping at them.

Kat herself didn’t notice any of this. She didn’t even have a bow. She stood in the stall, staring at the target and stroking her chin. Her hair glistened like fresh snow in the afternoon sun. The orange of her shirt stood in bright contrast to her icy skin. What _was_ that shimmer on the back of her right hand?

She raised said hand and spoke a sentence in what Lucy could now recognize as Ancient Greek, though she couldn’t understand most of it. The shimmer on her hand glowed - Lucy could see now that it was shaped like two crossed torches. Her words seemed heavy and slightly distorted, carrying power within them. All muttering had died now, even the glares. Now the whole range watched her with paralyzed fear, save for Chiron, who looked on in disapproval.

The air above Kat’s head shimmered. Five violet lights appeared there, each shaped like a shard of chiseled crystal. At a gesture from her, they arranged in a loose formation and pointed downrange. At another, one shot out faster than the eye could follow and embedded itself in the target, scoring a seven. Another gesture, another shot, averaging in the six to eight range. When all five shards had been fired, Kat waved a hand, and they vanished from the target to reappear above her head for another round.

Though the others seemed frightened or aghast at the display, Lucy watched in open-mouthed awe. She’d seen her share of monsters and unusual things, but to see _magic_ used before her very eyes… For a brief moment, she was back in her mother’s lap in the days before her training, listening to tales of brave knights and wise wizards. Daydreaming about being one of them. Pretending to be with her box helmet and foam sword. Childish days she’d never entirely left behind, if her doodles were any indication.

“So… why not keep her company instead?” Lucy said to the spirit.

“I doubt she and I would make very good friends.”

Lucy balked at the spirit’s pointed look. “You want _me_ to?”

“Why not? You say you make the others uncomfortable. Perhaps you two can find some common ground in that.”

“But… if the things people say about her are true-”

“Like the things people say about you are?”

That shut Lucy up. They did have common ground in that. Having things said behind their backs. Spending each day alone, even amongst the largest crowds.

“Yes, there are rumors. Yes, she is hated. And yes… she has made mistakes. She has failed before. But rumors, hate, mistakes, failures… Do those things make a person not worth caring for?”

At least in Lucy’s case it could be read as indifference rather than open hostility. What would it be like to spend each day locked away in a cabin alone? To possibly be _cursed,_ as the rumors suggested? To have even coming out for fresh air and some shooting practice get you showered with insults and hate? What did that do to a person?

“What kind of hero will you be _,_ Lucy?” the spirit’s voice whispered in her ear. “Who will you care about?”

Lucy clutched her knife’s handle tightly. Certainty pierced the darkness in her mind. She made her decision.

“I’ll care when no one else does,” she whispered with conviction. “I’ll care about those who’ve been forgotten or thrown away.”

The spirit hummed in satisfaction. The small golden woman threw herself into the air and did a loop-the-loop. She gave Lucy a smile and a wave, then zipped off, chasing her long gone sisters. Lucy watched her go with a strange sense of longing. Was there more to her than met the eye?

Lucy would sort through that later. For now, she had someone in need of her help.

She downed the last of her water cup. Then, she grabbed a new bow from one of the racks and walked towards the second-to-leftmost stall on the shooting line.

* * *

 

Kat the arcanist loved being showy.

That was a big, almost jarring difference compared to her fellows. Kat the healer was humble with her craft, only taking credit when it was offered by others. Kat the smith would talk your ear off about swords and explosions, but only if you were willing to listen. The botanist was similar. The physicist and the chemist were reserved, to say nothing of the cosmologist. Whatever their overall temperament, they were usually limited in how they wanted others to perceive their work. They had different ways of dealing with the insults and threats.

Not the arcanist. When she wasn’t buried in books or experimenting, she liked to demonstrate her powers freely. She didn’t care for what they said, so long as they got to see her craft in its refined splendor. And refined it was. She wasn’t Hecate’s last daughter for nothing.

The last of her projected missiles hit the target for a nine. Hmm. Easy enough to add homing to the target’s center, but this looked more authentic. Plus, she’d been curious to see how she was at unassisted aiming. Above average for her current crowd. She waved her hand and channeled some energy, recalling her projectiles to her. At a flick of her fingers, the first zoomed off again.

They were muttering again, their auras shifting closer together. Most of them were still watching her. Good. Let them talk. Let them see what they feared so much.

It may have made sense for the arcanist to be the most reserved of all. Mages and wizards were historically secretive about their arts, after all. But being secretive might just make things worse. Better to show it off. Better to let them see what she could do than to let rumors grow. If they were exposed to it more, perhaps they’d come to fear it less. Perhaps they’d find it awing instead of terrifying, worthy of praise instead of hate.

Perhaps they might come to accept her.

Another round of missiles depleted. Hmm. A good start, but lacking in flair. Something extra to spice things up, perhaps? Maybe…

She caught a glance of Chiron’s disapproving look. It spoke volumes without saying a word: _You_ _’re here for a reason, and it’s not to show off._

“Idiot,” Kat muttered to herself. “Focus. Focus.”

She had an outstanding problem to solve, one that was a week overdue. And more important now, with the strange findings from Camp Jupiter. She refocused on her _other_ sense, training it to the dim glow near the water cooler, which-

Which was walking directly towards her.

Kat froze up, resisting the urge to look over her shoulder to confirm it. The calm she’d worn into the range crumbled. The arcanist’s confidence went with it.

“Oh, _Mists,_ _”_ she swore softly. Did Lucy know why Kat was here? Did she somehow know that Kat had been studying her aura from outside Cabin Eleven late into the night? Was she coming to confront Kat about it? What would she do? What _could_ she do? Kat didn’t know, and she couldn’t protect herself from what she didn’t know…

Movement to her right as Lucy stepped into the stall next to her. “Um… hi,” she said.

Kat kept her eyes trained on her target, trying to keep panic off her face. “Hello.”

Lucy took an arrow from her basket. “You, um… looked like you could use some company?” she said haltingly.

Company? _Kat_ looked like she needed company? What kind of shoddy ruse was this? “I… sure. Yeah. Company,” she said, her voice cracking on the last word. She closed her eyes and cursed herself again.

“I’m, uh, I’m Lucy.”

“Um, Kat.”

 _Get a grip,_ the arcanist came back. _You can use this. If she_ _’s trying to get answers out of you, maybe you can get some out of her. Mists know nothing else has worked._

Try as she might, Kat hadn’t been able to break whatever magic was obscuring Lucy’s aura. A week had gone by without Lucy being claimed, so it was safe to assume it wouldn’t be happening anytime soon, if at all. Then there was the discrepancy Victoria found in Camp Jupiter’s records, saying that Lucy’s mother had been dead for a year by the time Lucy was born. They’d kept that detail from Lucy, of course.

 _She_ _’s given no signs yet,_ Kat mused, shooting another projectile to buy time to think. _No abnormal powers or skills, save for her mother_ _’s supposed training. All she’s done in the last week is help people with chores... excessively, too._ Her brow furrowed _. She just lets them take advantage of her with no reward. That has to be an act to placate us, right? What is she hiding?_

With all of that, and the strange way she’d survived on the way here… The camp needed answers. At this point, Kat was their best hope of finding them.

But how to find them when even the showy arcanist had all the charisma of a dead fish?

Kat glanced at Lucy. She had her arrow nocked and drawn, but was unsteady holding it, shifting it around and trying to find a good a way to stand. When she loosed the arrow, it hit the ground a few feet in front of her, very far from the target.

“You’re not very good at that,” Kat blurted without thinking. She grimaced and grit her teeth, cursing herself for the third time in as many minutes.

Lucy gave a half-chuckle, half-sigh. “No, I’m really not… But, um… I guess that’s what practice is for, right?”

Kat forced herself to relax, surprised Lucy hadn’t gotten defensive. “Yeah… I guess,” she said. Gods, this was no good. How could she get answers subtly when she couldn’t even hold a proper conversation? Why couldn’t Lucy skip the small talk and accuse her already? That _was_ why she’d come over here, right?

Lucy shifted her weight between legs, scratching at a bruise on her left arm. She kept looking up to Kat’s conjured missiles. “So… um… You know magic and stuff?”

Kat blinked. “Uh… Yeah. A lot of magic and… stuff.”

“Wow, that’s… pretty cool.”

“It… can be, I guess.”

“And, erm… where’d you learn that?”

“Oh, uh…Well… I’m Hecate’s daughter, so…”

“Right, right. Yeah. Cool.”

Dear Olympus above. Either Lucy was putting on a damn good act, or she was just as atrocious at socializing as Kat was. All the gods together couldn’t have created a more awkward conversation. Kat actually felt grateful that Lucy wouldn’t be able to see the heat in her cheeks. Lucy’s own cheeks were bright red, her eyes pointedly locked downrange. Kat looked to nearby Chiron hoping he’d provide an exit, but he just watched with a raised eyebrow and an amused expression.

 _Okay, screw talking,_ the arcanist took over again. _Focus on the problem at hand. Haven_ _’t had her this close since she woke up, maybe something’s changed that you haven’t noticed. You should keep trying to break that aura shield, see if you can-_

“So what all can your magic do?” Lucy blurted out.

The sudden question caught Kat off guard. “I- What?”

She turned to Lucy and found her staring up at Kat’s projected missiles again. The look in her eyes wasn’t fear, but wonder. “You can make and shoot those, but what else can it do? Can it do, like… anything?” Her tone made Kat think of a child thrilled to discover something new.

“Well, it’s… complicated. But no, it can’t do everything.”

Lucy seemed somewhat crestfallen at that, but perked right back up. “So what all _can_ _’t_ it do? That’s a shorter list, right?”

“Well, the biggest limitations involve messing with the gods’ laws. Like, it can’t bring people back from the dead, it can’t make someone immortal, it can’t bend time or see the future…” Kat stopped herself when she realized she was starting to ramble. She frowned at Lucy. “You’re actually… interested in this?”

“Of course!” Lucy said with a smile, still looking at the magic missiles. “Who wouldn’t be? It’s _magic!_ _”_

 _Everyone else would disagree._ That bitter thought couldn’t take hold for long against Lucy’s enthusiasm. “I guess… Well, like I said, it can’t go around violating any rules of the universe. Aside from that, if I’ve got the words for it and the energy for it, I can make it happen.”

“The words?” Lucy asked. “In Ancient Greek, right?”

“Or Latin, though Greek works better for me. There’s another, more ancient language from the Titan days that’s supposed to be even more powerful, but no one living still speaks it. But yeah, casting a spell is as simple as saying what I want to happen and channeling energy into it. The more words in the language I know, the more detailed I can make the spell. That’s why I’m fully fluent in both Greek and Latin,” she let a bit of pride sneak into her voice.

Lucy nodded and finally met Kat’s eyes with a smile. “That had to have been a lot of work. You must be _really_ smart.”

Kat blinked at her, surprised by the sudden flutters in her chest. An unfamiliar feeling, but one that felt… good. A smile tugged at her lips.

Had someone her age just _complimented her?_

“I… Well, um…” Kat tried to find her voice again. She cleared her throat. “Erm… Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Lucy said, smiling wider. Kat had first felt _danger_ from this girl, back when she’d been observing her from a distance through her aura, mulling over the secrets she seemed to hide. But in person, with that smile, she seemed… Warm. Kind.

Was it really an act? It had to be, why would someone Kat’s age be kind to her? But… a part of her wanted to believe…

Kat cleared her throat and looked downrange. “Ahem. Yes. Well… Even then, there’s still limitations.”

“Oh? Like what?” Lucy asked. Kat tried not to think anything of her tone. She could be acting and still be curious, right? Yes, most likely. Best to play along for now. Besides, Kat found answering the questions… kinda fun, actually.

“Well, like I said, the energy it takes to perform a task.” In demonstration, Kat flicked a missile into her target. “Everything I do with it takes some amount. In general, it takes around the same amount of energy as it would to perform the task normally. There are some exceptions, though. I’m most efficient with spells that are purely magical in nature, like illusions and arcane projections. I can use elemental forces like fire and water too, but it costs me more, and I’ll always be outclassed by a child of the corresponding god. I have to mind how tired I am and how much energy a spell might cost. Using too much at once would make me pass out, or kill me.”

“Hmm,” Lucy grunted, taking an absentminded shot to seem like she was participating. “Sounds dangerous. Does the energy have to come from you?”

“Not necessarily. I can store energy in gemstones for later use-”

“Oh, like the one in your necklace? Is that what that’s for?”

Kat fingered the purple amethyst in her pendant with her left hand. She bit her lip and looked at the ground. “…In a manner of speaking. But yes, gemstone stores help me cast larger spells without getting tired. If the store is big enough, I can lift insanely heavy objects and heal otherwise crippling injuries…”

She trailed off when she realized what she’d just said. When she looked up at Lucy, the other girl was staring at her with wide eyes. “So… it was you? You healed my leg?”

The Mists curse Kat and the looseness of her tongue. Well, the cat was out of the bag now. “…Yes.”

“I’d been wondering… you saved my leg, probably my life, too. Thank you.”

“I couldn’t heal you all the way, though,” Kat muttered. She didn’t mention that it wasn’t technically her who’d done the healing. Kat the healer was the one to thank. Too much to explain right now though.

“But I got to heal all the way, thanks to you. You’ve probably helped a lot of others too, right? You’re a hero, Kat.”

A lump rose in Kat’s throat. _You_ _’re a hero, Kat._ The words echoed in her mind. They sent her arcanist’s logic spiraling and her heart soaring. Her eyes started burning, getting watery despite her choking it back.

She didn’t know which was more euphoric. Being called _hero,_ or being called by her name.

If Lucy was putting on an act to trick Kat, then she knew how to play Kat like a fiddle.

“It was nothing,” Kat mumbled.

“To a person saved, it can mean everything,” Lucy said. Strange that she avoided referring to herself there. Like she was going out of her way not to.

“…You’re not about to swear me your life in payment, are you?”

Kat had said it jokingly, but Lucy’s smile fell. “No. I won’t do that to you, don’t worry.” Her eyes glazed over, staring at something far away that Kat couldn’t see. Her right hand drifted down to clutch at her right hip where her Imperial Gold knife was concealed.

That haunted look… Kat knew it all too well.

For the next couple minutes, they shot in silence. Kat didn’t try to add any more flair to her shots, and Lucy didn’t seem to be trying as hard with hers. She did manage to land one on the edge of the target, earning praise from Chiron, but she didn’t even crack a smile. Too busy wrestling with whatever demons Kat had dragged up. Stupid of her. The one person to ever willingly speak to her, and she’d screwed it up. Typical. It had been too good to be true anyway.

She figured she’d do the polite thing. “Others won’t like you talking to me,” she said, giving Lucy an excuse to leave.

Lucy snorted. “Others don’t like me much anyway.”

They didn’t? Really? But wasn’t she doing chores for them? Wasn’t she kind to them, save for the boy she’d show up with for some reason? Kat managed to stop herself from bringing that up. “Oh? Why not?”

She shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter, does it? They don’t like you, either. Figured we had that in common.”

Kat blinked. “I mean… They _really_ don’t like me. You heard what they call me. They can’t hate you _that_ badly.”

“Maybe they should,” she muttered. “Still… I don’t see why they hate you. I like you.”

Kat had been about to launch into a tirade about why their hate was justified when those words stopped her cold. “You… You _like_ me?”

“Yeah,” Lucy said casually, as if she hadn’t just shattered Kat’s world with three words. “I’ve enjoyed talking to you. That’s… a first since I’ve gotten to camp, actually. You seem like a good person, no matter what they say about you.”

Oh gods. Kat felt like she was melting from the warmth inside her. If Lucy was tricking her, she was ready to be tricked. She’d waited a hell of a long time for someone to say those words to her.

Somebody _liked_ her.

Kat swallowed hard, trying to keep her giddiness from reaching her face and voice. “I… I’ve liked talking to you too, Lucy. It’s been… nice.”

Lucy smiled and started to say more, but a high whistle throughout the valley cut her off. Chiron called for everyone to stow their equipment and move on to the next activity. The Hermes kids did so with grumbles, still shooting glares her way. Concerningly, a few were now directed at Lucy, too. Proof if proof be needed that Kat corrupted everything she touched. Lucy’s reputation, low as it supposedly was, would take a long while to recover from this little chat. If it ever did. At least it’d been fun while it lasted.

Kat waved a hand and dispelled her projected missiles. She avoided Lucy’s eyes and tried to keep her face blank. “Well… thank you for the company, Lucy. I suppose I’d better be going.” She turned to leave and head back for her cabin.

“Do you have to?”

She looked over her shoulder. “What?”

Lucy had followed her, her face hopeful. “Well, um… If… what they say makes you too uncomfortable, I completely get that, but, um… If you’re not doing anything… You could come to combat training? Then we could keep talking?”

_What?_

Kat was… being _invited somewhere?_

 _No, absolutely no,_ the arcanist said. _With all the secrets around her, there_ _’s no way she’s not trying to trick you. Stop playing into it. Pull back, observe from a distance, keep working on a way to-_

“O-Of course,” her lips moved faster than her mind could stop. “Y-Yeah, I’ll… I’ll go with you. If… you don’t mind?”

Lucy smiled, a radiant, truly happy look on her. “Great! Thank you! This’ll be my first session, and… well, I’m a bit rusty, so…”

Kat smiled back. “Can’t be as rusty as me. I’m not sure I even know how to hold a sword…”

“Oh, I can show you, if you’d like! And then… maybe you could show me some more of your magic, too?”

“Uh, yeah, of course!” she answered with enthusiasm she didn’t know she still had. “You know, as long as you promise not to burn me for witchcraft…”

Lucy laughed. “No promises yet. First you have to promise you won’t turn me into a newt.”

“A _newt?_ ”

“What? That’s what witches turn people into, right?”

“Are you thinking of frogs?”

“Look, let’s just agree that no one will get turned into any amphibians.”

“Well, no promises there either…”

Kat laughed with Lucy. Really laughed. For the first time in… A long time.

The questions lingered in the back of her mind. The secrets Lucy held, the dangers they might pose. Approaching Kat like this, doing all she’d done… No way that wasn’t an act. Those weren’t the actions of a sane person. And even if it wasn’t an act… The outraged glares Lucy got when they followed behind the Hermes kids towards the arena should’ve dissuaded Kat. Dragging someone down into that pit with her seemed the pinnacle of selfishness.

But… for this feeling, this laughter… She was willing to ignore all of that for a while. She could pretend that someone truly liked her. She could pretend they weren’t mired in uncomfortable questions at a time preceding war. She could pretend that her presence wouldn’t be a curse on the one person kind enough to give her a chance.

No matter her persona, Kat was very good at playing pretend.


	14. A Knight's Duty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter beta read and improved with help from [Platon.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Platon/pseuds/Platon)

_“A discarded soul wanders damnation, the penance of an oathbreaker. Is this what ideals are worth? Is this where justice is found?”_

* * *

 

Combat training wasn’t as fun as Lucy had hoped.

Metal rang against metal. Bronze blurs streaked around her. Grunts and war cries punctuated each swing and thrust, each dodge and parry. Sweat from the afternoon sun dripped down her face. Her eyes were burning, her breath heavy, her heart pounding. Normally, such a duel would make her feel alive.

Today, it set her more on edge than she’d been all week.

Her heart skipped a beat with each of Percy’s attacks, and her gut response was to aggressively counter. It rarely worked; the sword she’d chosen was too long, carrying her strikes further than intended. One such strike glanced harmlessly off his armor. He took advantage and brought his sword around to slam into her side. Air left her lungs as she dropped her sword and toppled to the dirt again.

“Close one, Lucy,” Percy said, heavy of breath. “Thought you had me there for a second.”

_Three losses. Three total._

Lucy coughed and pushed herself to her knees, tenderly rubbing what would be a new welt. Two others throbbed in time with it. Blows that would’ve been lethal if not for the arena dulling every weapon that passed into it. She half expected the usual reprimand to come.

_“Dead. And so are the people you just failed.”_

The list of names filled with people around the arena. Emile. Jasper. Cael. All dead because she wasn’t good enough. How had she let herself get so rusty?

Percy walked over and offered her a scarred hand. “Good bout. You should take a break.”

She grit her teeth and shoved his hand away. Grabbing her sword from the dirt, she drove its point into the ground and pushed herself up. “I can keep going.”

Percy paused, about to put a ballpoint pen into his pocket, his sword nowhere to be seen. “You sure? If you need to-”

“No,” she said. “One more round. Please.”

His hesitance irritated her. So did a lot of other things about him. He seemed like a nice enough guy, but something about him just… really made her want to punch him in the face. His very punchable face. Yet, when he’d requested she spar with him, she’d agreed. He was said to be the best swordsman the camp had seen in years, and no current camper had ever beaten him. If there was a fast way to improve, it was with him. Not that the Hermes kids would partner with her anyway.

Percy sighed. “All right. One more, then we break.”

Lucy nodded, and again they settled into their ready stances. She flinched when Percy’s sword reappeared. She shook her head and grit her teeth, trying to focus. The weapons were warded. The welts didn’t hurt that much. Nothing real was at stake. It _did_ thrill her to fight with a sword again.

So why was she so damn tense, even now?

They didn’t waste a lot of time circling each other. Within seconds, they were back at it.

_“Your blade is a part of you.”_

The words came to her amidst clashing metal. So many training bouts fought to their mantra.

_“Your weapon is the people’s shield.”_

Twist, parry, feint, thrust. An intricate dance of four partners, warriors and their blades.

_“You want to be a hero? Master it.”_

She tried to lose herself in the dance, to set her mind free and let instinct guide her. But her weapon’s imbalance threw her off. She couldn’t get that switch to flip in her brain. As such, she had to take Percy’s attacks at full speed. She managed to hold back from aggressive counters and stayed defensive, trying to last as long as she could.

It lasted longer than the first three, but the ending was the same. Despite it being her first training session, Percy didn’t seem to be holding back. Barely two minutes in, she’d been knocked to the dirt.

_Four losses. Four total._

Names counted off in her head again. Bret. Calli. Kat. All dead if this hadn’t been training. Entire lives full of energy and purpose lost, because she hadn’t been good enough.

_“How many will it take for you to get it? How many before you take this seriously?_

_“I-I’m sorry—”_

_“Tell that to the dead.”_

Lucy drove her sword into the dirt. She pushed herself up slowly, head bowed. She barely noticed the welts or her aching muscles. It wasn’t physical pain that threatened her with tears. Horrible, selfish tears.

 _No._ She grit her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut. _I will not cry._

Percy rushed over and knelt beside her. “Are you hurt? I’ve got nectar if you need-”

“No,” she muttered. “Leave me alone.”

“You sure? You seem—”

“I said I’m _fine!”_ Lucy snapped. God, did she want to punch him. One quick tap couldn’t hurt, right? She restrained herself - barely - and pushed herself to her feet.

“...All right,” Percy said. “Go grab some water, then-”

Lucy raised her sword again. “One more.”

He blinked at her, surprised. “Lucy, you can’t keep this up. You need a break.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, the tremble in her hands betraying her words.

Percy shook his head and capped Riptide. “You’ve gone too hard today already.”

Lucy sighed explosively. “Come on, I can take one more stupid-”

 _“No,_ Lucy. We’re done.”

Her patience ran out.

She lunged for him without warning. He sidestepped her blow, grabbed her arm and twisted. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make her drop her sword. She growled and threw a punch with her other hand, but he _caught_ her fist and held it there. She strained against him to no avail.

“You're frustrated,” Percy said with sternness she hadn't expected from him. “You’re tired. You need to rest and _calm down._ You'll hurt yourself if you keep going.”

Lucy grunted, still trying to break his grip. “Will every fight be when I'm calm and rested?” she growled the old lesson through grit teeth.

“You don't prepare for that by training until you drop. Take a break, Lucy. Please.”

She disagreed, but could see that she'd lost this battle too. She ceased her struggle. When his grip loosened, she quickly pulled away from him.

“I need to be better,” she muttered, picking up her sword and sheathing it.

“I get that,” Percy said. “There's a lot of scary stuff out there. And… you never know when something big could be coming. I want you to be prepared, but you have to pace yourself. You want to get better, start by knowing _when to stop.”_

She bit back a retort about his training philosophy. Instead, she glared down at her sword. An imperfect weapon was no excuse, but she couldn't help wondering how she would've done with a balanced sword.

Percy caught her looking. “Head to the forge when you've got free time, they'll get you a sword that fits you better. For now, go get some water. We’ll start running the agility course in ten minutes.”

With that dismissal, he left to help a pair of younger boys having trouble with the forms. Lucy fumed there for a few more moments before heading to the drink station. Kat stood there alone, downing cup after cup of water. Though many other sparring pairs were finishing up, they kept their distance. Lucy joined her without hesitation.

“Don’t drown yourself.”

Kat paused between drinks to blink at her, as though surprised anyone would talk to her. She hid it quickly and chuckled. “I’ll try not to, but I’ve got a tough opponent. He’s giving me a real workout.”

Kat had been practicing on a dummy to the side of the sparring rings. Like at the archery range, she’d forgone using actual equipment in favor of a purple blade projected with magic. Lucy’s awe at seeing that had faded on seeing Kat try to use it. She was… well, she needed a lot of practice.

Lucy downed some water with a sigh. They both refilled their cups and stepped away from the station, at which point the others finally started to come forward. Lucy tried to ignore their glares with little success, irritated as she was.

Kat noticed. “Percy give you a thrashing?”

“A bit, yeah.”

“Don’t feel too bad. Every newcomer fights him their first time. It’s basically a rite of passage.”

“Oh? Did you fight him when you came?”

Kat gave a laugh that didn’t reach her eyes. “No, no. She was way too easily distracted to even think about training.”

Lucy raised an eyebrow. “She?”

“...I meant me. Sorry, I misspoke.”

Lucy’s attempt to read Kat ended with her staring at Kat’s ghostly visage. Her mother would’ve had words about how incredibly rude that was. Albino people weren’t _that_ out of the ordinary. So what was it about Kat that made others look away, that sent chills through Lucy even now?

She searched for something else to say as the silence started getting uncomfortable. The strange nature spirit had said Kat needed help. Lucy still had to figure out what _kind_ of help. But how to move forward? They’d gotten off to a good start, but how to keep that going?

A couple of insults drew Lucy’s attention to the group of kids by the water station. At first glance, they didn’t look like kids at all. The majority of them were tall and rippling with muscle; even the youngest girls made the oldest Hermes boys look like twigs. A few of the bigger ones looked like they could have Laistrygonian blood in them, a thought that made Lucy’s skin crawl. Even when Percy called for them to shut up and get back to work, many of them didn’t take hateful eyes off Lucy and Kat. She glared back, fist clenching involuntarily.

“Don’t mind them, Lucy,” Kat said. “Ares kids are always like that, even to the others.”

“Why are we paired with them for this?” Lucy asked. “Hermes can’t compete with them. It doesn't make sense.”

“Camp has too many people not to share training times. They don’t train with anyone but each other anyway.”

Lucy grunted. That made sense, but why did it have to be with _them_ of all people? Big as the arena was, just being _near_ them made Lucy tense. Her hand brushed her hidden knife. Perhaps Ares kids innately made people itch for a fight. She had to get a better grip on that.

“So, um…” Kat started, “I hear you still haven’t been claimed?”

Lucy’s mood soured further. “No, I haven't.”

“It’ll happen soon, I’m sure,” Kat said, sounding not at all sure. “Do you have any hints? Any weird powers or skills?”

Lucy shrugged. “None that I’ve noticed. Unless there’s a god of laundry and cleaning.”

“Hmm,” Kat frowned and stroked her chin, studying Lucy with a critical eye. “You’re too generic for me to guess based on appearance…”

“Yeah, I don't really look like anyone else here, so—” Lucy paused. “Wait, _generic?_ ”

Kat ignored the incredulous look Lucy gave her. “Do you feel any kind of… _connection_ to a group of people? Or a specific cabin? Some kind of gut instinct?”

She didn’t have to consider that. “No. None.” She didn’t mention how tense she felt no matter where she went. How the whole camp just seemed... _off_ to her.

“Hmm. Well, you could be Roman. Your mother was a Roman demigod, correct?”

“Yeah, a daughter of Bellona,” Lucy said, the words still sounding strange. “She trained me, passed part of her Empowerment down to me, too.”

“Hmm… So the likelihood she’d choose a Roman for her partner is high… There are a lot of minor Roman gods that could explain your lack of noticeable powers or skills… Though, by compatibility alone, a war god seems most likely.”

Lucy grunted. “Maybe.”

“You don’t agree?”

“I don’t know what to think.”

“So… you really don’t have any idea?”

“No. Why are you so interested, anyway?”

Kat paused. “I just… want to help you figure it out.”

Was there more to that answer? Lucy didn’t pry. “Well, whoever he is, he probably hasn’t claimed me for a reason.”

“You can’t know that for sure. It’s best to wait for hard evidence before jumping to conclusions.”

“Maybe,” Lucy said. “And what about you? What’s it like having Hecate for a mom?”

Kat paused again, surprised. Every question Lucy asked about her had that effect. Lucy hadn’t thought to ever meet someone as socially inept as her. Kat’s expression fell. “It’s… complicated.”

The polite thing would be to let it drop, but Lucy’s curiosity got the better of her. “In what way?”

Kat looked away and fiddled with the necklace she wore, her gaze somewhere far away. “She’s a better mother than most goddesses. I’m only alive because of her. But it’s also because of her that I’m… like _this…_ ”

Such a bitter tone as she said it. Pain in her eyes.

“Like what?” Lucy asked softly.

A whistle rang throughout the arena before Kat could answer. Everyone still sparring disengaged immediately and sheathed their weapons. Without further prompting, both the Hermes and Ares kids jogged to where Percy was waiting at the agility course.

Kat sighed. “You’d better get over there.”

“You’re not coming?”

“I’ll sit this one out. The course is… tight quarters.”

“All right, we’ll talk when that’s done, okay?”

Lucy reluctantly left her and jogged over to where everyone else was lining up near the course at the east wall. Parts of it reminded her of training in her old backyard, with lines of tires, balance beams, and patterns of orange cones. An enormous jungle gym resembling a tribal fortress dominated the back portion, complete with rope walls, monkey bars, and high balance beams. Though it was dwarfed by the arena stands, it had to be at least two stories tall.

People had already started running the course, Ares kids by the look of them. Despite their size, they navigated the tires and cones with surprising speed. Another person started as soon as the previous person cleared the tires. When the first person reached the top of the fortress, they paused to ring a small bell before sliding down on a length of rope.

Percy found Lucy near the middle of the line. “Just pay attention to what everyone else does. Don’t worry too much about doing it quickly the first time. Since it’s Friday, we’ll only run it once.”

“It’s pretty straightforward, thanks,” she said, keeping civil. Was it his habit to baby every newcomer? Just one punch, just _one…_

She didn’t get to wrestle with that idea for long. The line moved quickly, and she was at the front before she knew it. As soon as her predecessor’s foot left the tires, she darted forward.

_“Too slow! Hop to it! Faster!”_

Feet wide, knees high on every step. Form that had been drilled into her for years. When she’d been shorter, that hadn’t stopped her from tripping. Even now her feet nearly caught inside the tires. She cleared them without incident and sprinted to the first set of cones.

_“Danger won’t wait for you!”_

Run to cone. Stutter step, pivot, run to next cone. Through several patterns of cones. She dimly registered passing her predecessor. Across a balance beam. Speed ladders. More cones. Run, jump, turn, _breathe._ Her pounding pulse set the tempo. Outrun it. Danger wouldn’t wait.

_“Still too slow. Know what happens when you’re too slow?”_

She reached the fortress. A high net of rope was the only way in. She jumped and started to climb, fumbling with her hands and feet as the rope sagged and swayed. It burned her hands when she slipped. Sweat coated her palms from the sun. No excuse. Keep going.

Shouts from the crowd below. Blistering heat on her skin. The periodic ringing of the bell, so shrill, so clear despite the wind and her hammering heart…

_“Help!”_

She almost fell when she next slipped. She hoisted herself into the fortress and paused for breath. No. Don’t stop. Stay focused. Keep going.

Monkey bars across a gap a dozen feet high. More rope walls. A flat wall of wood with nothing but a rope to climb it. Heart beating louder now. Up the tempo, don’t slow down, don’t slow down...

The bell rang again, high and shrill.

_“Please!”_

No clear way through. Have to be quick. Have to improvise. Swing across the gaps. Scale the broken rubble. Stay low, avoid the smoke. Ignore the flames, their heat so scalding upon her skin. Follow the sound, that terrible sound…

Another high scream. _“Help!”_

_“Hold on! I’m coming! Please hold on!”_

Too slow. Too much rubble. Too much smoke. Where was she? Stay focused. Scale wall. Dart across beam. Ignore the cries of her legs and lungs. Ignore the scalding air. Ignore the stinging in her cheek, the blood dripping down her face…

She reached the top and rang the bell.

The scream right in her ears forced her to her knees.

_“No… no, no, no, I can get you… Just…”_

_“Mary… Need… Mary...”_

_One._

Too slow. Too slow. _Too slow…_

“Lucy!” A distant voice called. “You okay?”

A cool breeze. Clean air. Percy’s voice. The arena. Right, she was on the agility course. Safe. Just auditory delusions from the heat. That’s all it was…

“I’ll be right down!” she called back. She forced herself to her feet and rubbed her eyes. _No. I will not cry._

She grabbed the rope and slid down. As soon as her feet hit the ground, she nearly face-planted into the dirt. Her heart was racing, her lungs burning. Every part of her ached like it hadn’t in ages. She took a few wobbly steps forward as the world spun around her. Gods, why was she so dizzy?

Percy caught her by the shoulder and held her steady, offering a glass of water. She downed it quickly, certain it was the most refreshing thing she’d ever drank. It refilled before her eyes, and she downed it again.

“Careful, don’t drink too quickly, or you’ll cramp.”

She shook his grip off. “How’d I do?” she gasped between drinks.

“Well, on the positive side, I don’t think I’ve seen anyone run it faster their first time. But for how hot it is, you definitely went too hard.”

Lucy scowled between drinks. “Too slow…” she muttered. “I was too slow…”

Percy gave her an incredulous look. “Gods, Lucy. I admire your drive, but if you keep this up, you’re gonna kill yourself working too hard. Normally newbies have the opposite problem. _Pace yourself._ Don’t burn yourself out in training.”

Lucy scoffed at that. Part of her wanted to get back in line and try it again, if it weren’t for that damned bell…

Percy clapped her on the shoulder, to her irritation. “Still, great effort today. Get a drink, wait in the shade. That’s your last physical activity for the day.”

 _But I’ve barely done any,_ she wanted to protest, but he shot her a look that said not to argue with him. Repressing another urge to deck him, she nodded. Satisfied, he went back over to the course to shout encouragement at the stragglers, mostly younger Hermes kids struggling with the ropes.

One descended from the final rope and fell face first in the dirt. Lucy rushed to help him without thinking. To her immediate dismay, Cael raised his head and coughed, gasping for air. Part of her wanted to drop him, but she helped him to his feet and held him steady.

He gave her a weary grin. “Oh, feeling kind today, are you?”

“Shut up,” she muttered, pointedly looking away.

“Figured you were fast,” he said, pointedly not shutting up, “but not _that_ fast. I think you broke the Hermes record, not that that’s saying much.”

“I wish you weren’t saying much either.”

“So you’ll talk to the creepy witch, but not me?”

She tightened her grip on his shoulder enough to make him wince. “She’s actually quite nice, unlike you.”

“Hey, I never said I was nice.”

“Brilliant, you managed _not_ to lie about something.”

Cael snorted, but his grin faded some. “What’s your deal? Look, I just want to pay you back, why is that-”

“ _No,”_ she growled. “I told you to drop it.”

“Or what? You’ll do everyone else’s laundry but mine?”

She let him go suddenly, and he almost stumbled and fell. She rounded on him with a hard glare. “Do you _want_ to die?”

Cael actually paused to consider that. “I’ll call your bluff on that. You’re not the killing type.”

“It’s not me you have to worry about,” she mumbled. “Look, just… forget it. Please.”

“...I’ll consider it, if you tell me one thing.”

“What?”

His face gained that serious cast he’d had on that first day at camp, a rare mood for him.

“You do all their chores and work for them—” He nodded towards his exhausted siblings. “—even though they treat you like crap. Just because they _asked_ you to.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

What was it with him and asking why she did things? Why did he care so much? Maybe a street thief like him couldn’t comprehend the concept of a selfless act. Yet another reason to avoid him.

“You just said it, they asked for help.”

Cael gave an exasperated sigh. “That’s not what I mean.”

“Then explain what you mean.”

“I mean… why would you agree to help someone who treats you badly?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Cael’s frown turned confused. He studied her carefully, as though trying to tell if she was serious. “I mean… I’d think that any _sensible_ person wouldn’t…”

He shook his head a few times and tried to find a different way to phrase his thoughts. Lucy just rolled her eyes. Selfish moron. She ignored him and scanned the arena for Kat. She’d provide a much better conversation. Lucy didn’t find her right away, though she should’ve been easy to pick out. Maybe she’d grown bored and gone back to her cabin?

Lucy had just about given up when she caught a glimpse of white hair. Kat was near the far wall, standing amidst a group of people. Lucy almost smiled at that. Perhaps others had decided to try talking to Kat after they’d seen Lucy do it.

That happy theory went out the window when one punched Kat in the stomach and threw her to the ground.

An involuntary growl escaped Lucy's throat. She pushed past Cael and stalked across the arena, all exhaustion gone. Every muscle in her body tensed. Blood pounded in her head. Her teeth ground against each other. Her heart burned with _anger_ unlike anything she’d felt before.

She could hear their voices now, deep and mocking. They kicked at Kat as she tried to stand. They called her _witch._ Told her to stand and fight. Told her to shut herself in her cabin and never come out. Told her they might do the camp a favor and get rid of her now. Beneath that, Lucy could barely make out whimpers of pain, pleas for mercy, attempts at casting spells cut off by another kick.

Evil. This was _evil._

_“You’ll face real evil one day.”_

“Oh, look,” the biggest one said, pointing at Lucy. “Here comes the witch’s new pet!” The others laughed. Three boys, two girls. All children of Ares, by the looks of them.

Bullies. All of them were bullies.

_“It will look like you.”_

“Leave her alone,” Lucy growled, glaring directly at the big one as he approached, though he stood two heads taller than her.

“Or _what?”_ he mocked. “Go do your chores, laundry girl. You should be thanking us. We’re _saving_ you from her.”

_“It will sound like you.”_

“Leave. Her. _Alone_ ,” Lucy said.

He snorted and looked to his friends. “Still playing the _helper_ act. Typical.”

 _“But it is_ nothing _like you.”_

One of the girls broke off from the group surrounding Kat and towered over Lucy beside her brother. “How stupid do you think we are? You think we’d fall for that BS?” she said.

“We’ve known it since your first day, Isolde,” the big one said. “You don’t belong here. You think we wouldn’t notice? Stupid Roman bitch…”

_“It is a threat to peace, to lives, to the world.”_

Lucy didn’t shrink from their gaze. “Last chance. Leave her be. She’s innocent.”

Some of them laughed at that. “Innocent? _Her?_ That’s rich,” the girl said.

“Tell that to Maria,” the big one growled. “Tell that to her family. If Chiron won’t do something about it, then we _will._ ” He cracked his knuckles. “Guess we’ll have to teach you a lesson too.”

_“And when you face evil, no matter what, no matter the cost…”_

“Lucy…” Kat whimpered, tears shimmering on her face. “Please… don’t—” She was cut off by a kick to the gut.

Something inside Lucy snapped.

_“...you must destroy it.”_

She struck without warning, slamming the heel of her palm into the big one’s throat.

He gave a strangled cry as he dropped. The girl beside him yelped in surprise and threw a punch. It ground to a near halt with the rest of the world. Lucy’s instincts were wired, every sense kicked into overdrive, every pulse of her heart driving her to move. It was all so crystal clear. The creases on the girl’s knuckles, lazily drifting towards Lucy’s face. The shock on her friends’ faces as they slowly turned, stepping away from Kat and raising their own fists. Four to one, far from fair.

For them.

She spun under the punch and drove an uppercut into the girl’s gut. She doubled over, going to clutch her stomach, but Lucy caught one of her arms and twisted hard. She felt each _crack_ and _pop._ She shouted and swung the girl into one of her siblings, knocking them both to the ground.

A small part of her rebelled against it. Instinct kept it suppressed, kept her outrage fueled. Bullies, all of them. _Dangerous._

The remaining boy and girl came at her from either side. She ducked and spun, arm already in motion. Her fist met the boy’s groin. He toppled backwards, howling. She whirled around to find the girl’s boot inching towards her face. She rolled beneath it, seized the girl’s calf and jumped to her feet. The girl lost her balance and fell. Lucy stomped on the back of the girl’s knee. The crack was drowned out by her scream.

Distant voices. Ignore them. Focus on the threat. _The enemy._

The last boy, the one she’d thrown the first girl into, had made it back to his feet. She snarled and went for him. He held up his hands and backed away. “Wait! I give up! I give-”

Lucy brought her knee to her chest and kicked him. Each distinct _crack_ through her boot gave her a savage sort of satisfaction. The boy screamed as he hit the dirt.

More faint calls. Movement in the distance. Not the threat. Not over yet.

She brushed her hip as she approached the whimpering boy. Not over yet. Finish it. She crouched and drew her right hand back, ready to deliver the deciding blo—-

_“Lucy, stop!”_

Percy’s voice hit her at the same time as the water jet.

It sent her a good distance before she hit the dirt. The icy cold snapped her out of the haze of battle, bringing all of her exhaustion and aches back. She gasped and shivered, teeth chattering. She clutched her head as it pounded. Gods above, when had she last felt so drained? Groaning, she pushed herself to her knees and looked up.

She was met with the stunned eyes of the entire Hermes and Ares cabins. They stood in clumps some distance from her, staring at her in mixtures of horror and anger. Cael shook his head slowly. Even Kat, who still laid in the dirt a short ways away, looked shocked. When Lucy got to her feet, many of them backed up.

Her heart dropped when she saw her opponents. All five lay crumpled on the ground, groaning in pain. Two had limbs bent at unnatural angles. One clutched his groin and whimpered. The one she’d kicked breathed in ragged gasps.

Worst was the one Percy knelt beside, who grabbed at his throat and struggled to speak, blood dribbling from his lips. Percy tried to calm him and feed him nectar. “Get the Apollo kids in here!” he called to the observers. When no one moved right away, he shouted, _“Now!”_

One of the younger Hermes kids ran for one of the exits.

Lucy’s hands trembled. Had she done all of that? Had she… _enjoyed_ it? Percy glanced up at her, more serious than she’d ever seen him.

“Lucy,” he said slowly, “drop the weapon.”

Lucy blinked. When she looked down, she was shocked to find her gold knife in her hand. She hadn’t drawn that just now, had she? No… The last blow… She’d… She’d been about to…

“Lucy. The knife. I won’t ask again.”

Slowly, with badly shaking hands, she stowed the knife back in her waistband. “I… I didn’t mean to… I just tried to…”

Percy said something else, but she didn’t hear it. She’d almost tried to _kill_ someone. The arena’s magic would’ve warded her knife, but her intent had been clear. How had she lost such control over herself? What if it had happened somewhere else? What if it happened again?

“Lucy—” Percy was saying.

“I—” she took a step back and shook her head. She managed one last, “I’m sorry.”

Then she turned and ran.

The crowd yelped and parted for her. Though Percy called after her, no one tried to stop her. Good. Who knew what she might do to them if they tried?

She stopped outside of the arena, breath heavy and heart racing. She looked frantically around, trying to stave off what was coming. She spotted the dark shade of the forest and ran for it. They said real monsters were kept there, and to never go in alone unless you wanted to be eaten. At the moment, that didn’t sound bad. She’d never been a stickler for rules anyway.

She ran through trees and bushes, startling all manner of creatures and nature spirits, until she found a secluded spot where the edges of the forest weren’t visible. She nestled in a small nook between a tree and a large boulder, hidden from sight unless one was coming from the direction of the ocean. She hugged her legs to her chest and squeezed her eyes shut tightly.

A single droplet escaped and ran down her cheek. Shameful. Selfish. A pittance she didn’t deserve for her failings. She grit her teeth and forced the rest back. _I will NOT cry._

How badly hurt were they? They’d deserved a beating for what they’d done to Kat, but they hadn’t deserved _that…_ had they?

_“Evil deserves no mercy.”_

But, were a bunch of thugs or bullies really _evil?_ How was she supposed to know? A real hero would know the difference, wouldn’t they?

 _A real hero wouldn’t lose themselves like I did either,_ she told herself. _I thought being here might help me…_

Whether she belonged here or not, that question wouldn’t matter much longer. They’d probably kick her out for this. Then it’d be back to Yancy, to bathroom duty and being put down by her teachers…

Self pity. Pathetic. Selfish. The more she wallowed in it, the more she hated herself for it.

And on the spiral went as the hours passed.

* * *

 

Kat couldn’t remember a time she’d felt more conflicted.

She paced back and forth, wearing a short path in the dirt floor of the arena. It was empty now, save for Percy, Annabeth and Chiron, who conversed a short ways away. The sun had fallen far in the hours since the incident, and the sky was starting to darken.

The afternoon had been an eventful one. The healer had returned in place of the arcanist to save the Ares boy’s throat. The other patients, still able to speak, had refused her help. The arcanist had then returned to pace and ponder what she’d seen while Percy, Annabeth and Chiron discussed the event.

“That is… troubling,” Chiron said when Percy finished. “I knew Lucy was not the most… stable individual, but to think that she would do such a thing…”

“Taking down five Ares kids alone? That’s practically impossible,” Annabeth said.

Percy grunted. “She didn’t even take a hit. She was nothing like that during our sparring, so either she was holding back on me, or…”

“Or what, Percy?”

Percy turned to Kat. “Did you sense her using any powers?”

Kat blinked. “Well… I wasn’t exactly looking all that hard at the time, but… no.”

His brow furrowed. “That’s… I could’ve sworn…”

“What?”

“…Nothing. Forget it.”

Chiron stroked his beard. “Kat, may I speak with Percy and Annabeth privately for a moment?”

“Sure,” she said politely, secretly irritated. They asked for her help in solving Lucy’s puzzles, yet they hid pieces from her. Not this time. She gave them a nod, then left the arena.

She didn’t go far. She walked around the outer wall a ways towards where they’d be standing inside. She glanced around to make sure no one would see, but everyone was at dinner already. Placing her hand on the wall, she cast a short spell. After a few seconds and a moderate energy drain, she started to hear their voices again.

“…swear to you, it was just like it,” Percy was saying. “The same as on the bridge.”

The other two were silent for a moment. “What you’re suggesting is… impossible, Percy,” Annabeth said.

“It should be, yeah, but how many other impossible things have we seen?”

“Annabeth is right,” Chiron said, sounding disturbed. “I pray that she is, at least. There is no precedent for something like that. What it would mean for our world…”

Percy grunted in reluctant agreement. “Either way, we have to keep a closer eye on her. To make sure this doesn’t happen again, and… well… the others already didn’t like her very much. This might push them to do something stupid.”

“We should’ve been watching her more closely anyway,” Annabeth said, “if we’re that sure she’s one of the six.”

“Assuming she hasn’t fled the camp by now,” Percy said. “No one’s seen her since she ran out.”

“I don’t believe she would leave camp, Percy,” Chiron said. “She simply needs time to calm herself. We should let her have it. Then we can discuss what will be done.”

Percy and Annabeth agreed, and they made for the arena exit opposite where Kat stood. She cut off her spell and looked out across the camp. She wasn’t sure what to make of any of that. All she could say was that the adults believed as Kat and the rest of the camp now knew for certain: Lucy was _dangerous._

The arcanist said, _I told you so._ That she should’ve kept her distance and observed Lucy from afar. It told her to go back to that, but with much more caution. Leave Lucy to her own devices, same as everyone else.

To hell with that.

Kat reached up to her pendant and fingered the amethyst within. The arcanist didn’t approve. Kat really hated doing this. But for Lucy’s sake… She pushed the gem in, twisted it, then pulled it out of the socket.

The arcanist’s arguments halted immediately.

Kat shivered though the day was still warm. She hated this… _hollow_ feeling. No knowledge. No purpose. Just a shell waiting to be filled with something other than gloom and self pity.

Today, that perspective was useful. If she had to hide somewhere alone that _wasn’t_ Cabin Twenty, where would she go?

Her eyes landed on the darkened forest. Dangerous, maybe. But for someone lost in their woes, that wouldn’t matter. Might even make it more welcoming. She walked in that direction, casting a simple spell to put a ball of light over her head.

She found a faint path through the trees where bushes had been trampled. She followed it, paying attention to her aura sense, though she couldn’t make heads or tails of most of the input. That was the arcanist’s or the healer’s expertise. Kat did most of her searching by instinct, heading deeper in, looking for the most secluded spot she could find.

She noticed a faint aura near the center of the forest. It nestled between a tree and a rock, an easy-to-miss spot. Kat settled down beside the rock and put out the light, leaving them in pitch blackness. For a long minute, the only sounds were those of the night time forest, with a few concerning howls in the distance.

“You picked a good spot,” Kat said quietly. “I’ll have to remember this. Doubt anyone could find you here, monsters aside.”

“How did you, then?” a ragged voice said back.

“I hide from things a lot. I’m pretty good at finding spots.”

Lucy sniffed. “How are they?”

The memory was hazy, as it wasn’t entirely hers, but she recalled the gist of it. “The one boy’s throat will be okay. The… _I_ healed him. The others refused my help. Broken ribs, torn muscles, bruising in some unfortunate places. Nectar and ambrosia should help them, but they'll be in casts for a while. And… I won't lie to you. They're saying that girl’s knee might not fully recover. She'll probably have a limp.”

Lucy's next few breaths were labored. “I… I did that to them…”

“It wasn't entirely your fault, Lucy.” Kat said in what she hoped was a reassuring tone.

“How not? I lost control… I got so _angry…_ ”

“I know how that feels.”

“Do you?”

“I do. I know what it's like to lose control. To hurt someone without meaning to. The guilt and shame that comes with it, wanting to run and hide from it. I know exactly how that feels.” Daggers in her throat as she said it, tears welling up in her eyes. Gods, she needed a gem. But the arcanist’s was the only one she had with her, and she might tell Kat to get up and leave. She endured the pain for the sake of the moment.

Lucy didn’t say anything to that. What _could_ one say to something like that anyway? Instead the only sounds between them were Lucy’s deep breathing and sniffing. Trying to keep from sobbing, if Kat had to guess. Why hold it back here, where no one could see it?

“Thank you, Lucy,” Kat said after a long pause.

“...For what?”

“For… the intent behind what you did. No one’s ever stood up for me before.”

“You needed help. And… I hate bullies.”

Right, she’d been disciplined in school for fighting bullies, hadn’t she? What must she have done to them if she could so thoroughly injure Ares kids? Kat held back on that question. “Well… maybe now they’ll think twice about doing that again, eh?”

Lucy chuckled, a good sign. “Maybe.”

“Really though, Lucy. Thank you. It… means a lot.”

“It’s nothing, Kat. Really. I’ll probably get kicked out for it, but—”

“Oh, don’t worry, they’re not going to kick you out. They’ll probably just restrict your activity time. Maybe give you bathroom cleaning duty.”

Lucy’s sudden laugh startled Kat. It was more sarcastic than humored.

“Ah. Bathroom duty. Now I’m starting to feel at home.” Her false humor faded quickly. “Though… The others probably won’t want me helping with their cleaning anymore…” Why did she sound _heartbroken_ about that?

She was right, though. The camp hadn’t been fond of Lucy to begin with. After being seen with Kat, and a display like that… Well, Kat probably wouldn’t be alone on the _Camp’s Most Hated and Shunned_ list anymore.

She sat up straighter.

Was it wrong to smile at the thought? No, it wasn’t her fault. Just an opportunity she’d eagerly snatch up. Nothing wrong with smiling about that.

“You might be right,” Kat said. “You’re probably all the buzz at dinner right now.”

“Dinner,” Lucy muttered. “Great. I’m sure they’ll love it when I show up.”

“No less than if I showed up. That’s why I just eat in my cabin.”

“You cook for yourself then?”

“Yeah. Though...” Kat licked her lips and steeled herself, “I wouldn’t mind making a second helping.”

Lucy was silent for a moment. Kat waited with held breath. Was it dumb of her to ask? Lucy might not approve. The arcanist would _definitely_ not approve. But when had she last hoped for something so much that wasn’t a project outcome? Screw logical conclusions and risk assessments. Leave those for the Kats that knew them. This one would follow her heart for once.

“...If you were to do that…” Lucy said haltingly, “would you mind... another set of hands to make those helpings?”

Kat’s heart skipped a beat. Her smile crept back onto her lips. “...I wouldn’t mind, no. I… might even show them some of my projects. Maybe even let them help on some of those too.”

For the first time since Kat had arrived, Lucy sounded like she was breathing a bit easier. “I’d like that.”

Kat stood a little too quickly, grabbing the rock for support.

“Well then,” she said, trying not to sound too eager. “Let’s not keep our stomachs waiting.”

Leaves rustled as Lucy rose slowly, grunting from stiff limbs. Kat cast the ball of light again, dim to avoid blinding them. Lucy’s eyes were puffy with dark circles beneath, but she wore a small smile. Side by side, they followed the trail out of the forest, emerging into camp proper beneath a starlit sky.

“Thank you,” Lucy mumbled.

“It’s nothing,” Kat lied. In actuality, it meant everything.

 _You’ll probably hurt her,_ part of her said. _Like you did to Maria._

 _No,_ the rest of her said firmly. _That won’t happen again. I won’t let it._

She’d walked into the archery range earlier expecting nothing but frustration. Instead, she’d been repeatedly surprised in all the best ways. The insults, the beating she’d gotten, even the anxiety about repeating past mistakes, none of that seemed to matter now. After all of that, she’d finally found something again, something she hadn’t had for many years.

A friend.

* * *

 

Rare was a night when the Hermes cabin wasn’t abuzz with chatter. Tonight was no exception. Cael loved that about the place, made it feel a lot more warm and welcoming.

Usually, though, the conversations were more fun than this one.

“I’m telling you,” one of the younger boys said to his friends left of Cael’s bunk, “I saw her go into the witch’s cabin! They’re planning something, right?”

The group to the right was on a different track of the same conversation. “Chiron’s _got_ to do something about this, keeping them here is _dangerous,_ and if they’re together…”

Every conversation around the cabin was similar. Groups would occasionally glance at the door. The whole building went silent every time someone walked in, but the chatter resumed when it ended up being another Hermes camper. Curfew was approaching now, and still Lucy hadn’t returned. Probably for the best, considering some of the comments people had made. And the things they’d stuffed in her sleeping bag.

Gathered around Cael’s bunk, his friends were also discussing the events of the day’s training. “She pulled a _gold_ knife on Trevor,” Jasper said. “If that’s not an obvious sign she’s a Roman spy, I don’t know what is.”

Natalie nodded in agreement. “It’s like you thought, the witch is probably feeding them information. Now they’re buddied up, crippling our best fighters…”

“You talked to her right before that happened, didn’t you, Cael?” Emile said. “She say anything suspicious beforehand?”

Cael shook his head, eyes unfocused. “No. Just… same as always.”

Jasper snorted. “Should’ve known the whole quiet and helpful schtick was an act. Probably didn’t do it on you cause you met before camp and she knew she couldn’t fool you with it.”

 _No, that’s not it,_ Cael thought, troubled. He’d been just as surprised and fearful as everyone else on seeing Lucy beat the living shit out of five huge Ares kids, especially after seeing what they could do in training all week. Definitive proof, if further proof be needed, that his instincts about her had been right. She _was_ dangerous.

But he couldn’t believe that she was a Roman spy, or the witch’s thrall, or any of the other dozen ridiculous rumors that had cropped up in the last few hours. That didn’t line up with what else he’d seen from her. What she’d done saving him from the Laistrygonian _couldn’t_ be an act.

He wanted to say something. But he wasn’t sure how to say it without everyone turning on him too.

“Almost curfew time,” Jasper said, glancing at the wall clock. “Maybe we should lock the door, let the harpies catch her. That’d solve that problem.”

Cael raised an eyebrow. “Letting her get _eaten_ doesn’t sound like the best response.”

“What do you suggest then? Wait until she does it again? How long until she busts your ass, with how much she seems to hate you?”

He frowned. “I don’t think—”

The front door slammed open. The whole cabin froze.

The sigh of relief was audible when Chet walked in. Cael’s smile at seeing his friend faded at the look on Chet’s face. A frown more serious than he’d thought possible from the camp’s leading prankster. Bloodshot, puffy eyes. A tangled mess of hair; he’d been pulling at it, by the looks of it. The restarted chatter quickly faded into murmurs as he walked in.

An oblivious six-year-old hopped off his bed and ran to Chet with a grin. “Big brother! Did you hear what Lucy did?”

“Yeah, I heard, and I don’t care right now,” he said, his voice ragged and low. “Listen up, everyone. I’ve got news.”

Everyone shuffled around on their beds and chairs to face him.

“What is it? The Romans?”

“The witch?”

“Did someone else get hurt?”

“Is it about Scott?” Cael asked. The cabin leaned in closer at that.

Chet nodded at Cael.

“Yes.” The pain in his voice sent chills down Cael’s spine. “I called his mom first. We both spent the rest of the day making calls. We… hoped it might be some dumb prank, but...”

He choked on the next word.

You could have heard a pin drop in the cabin. “...What happened? Is he okay?”

Chet swallowed and took a deep breath. “Scott never boarded his plane. No one has seen him in the last four days. As of this afternoon, he’s officially missing.”

* * *

**END OF ACT ONE  
**


	15. Interlude - Annabeth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter beta read and improved with help from [Platon.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Platon/pseuds/Platon)

**INTERLUDE - ANNABETH**

* * *

 

Annabeth took pride in her patience. For a demigod, that was a difficult talent to gain. For the wife of Percy Jackson, it was a difficult one to keep. And for an instructor in Camp Half-Blood, it was an absolute necessity. Campers, including Percy, needed a stabilizing force in their otherwise turbulent lives. And campers, _especially_ Percy, looked to her as a source of wisdom in times of trouble.

In the days following the start of the summer session, wisdom and patience were difficult to find.

“Is there nothing more you can do?” Annabeth asked, almost _pleaded,_ into the shimmering window against the rec room wall. “His brothers are desperate for answers.”

“If there was more I could do,” Victoria said with a scowl, “I’d be doing it. Bottom line, you’re asking to send armed scouting parties into the Neutral Zone. It looks like you’re searching for an invasion route. The Senate will never agree to it.”

Per the terms of their cooperation treaty, each camp had first claim to matters of importance that occured on their respective halves of the country. The Neutral Zone was the dividing line, the strip of states from Minnesota to Louisiana. Any operations there by one side had to be approved by the other. The other treaty writers had thought it wise to have a “buffer” to avoid territorial disputes. To Annabeth it just seemed to make dealing with urgent things there a needless hassle.

Unfortunately, Scott had disappeared in Iowa, which meant they needed Roman approval before they could start looking for him. What should have been a simple answer had turned into a political dispute, one that frayed Annabeth’s nerves even more than the stupid chariot races. The arguments were getting ridiculous. An _invasion route?_ Had the Romans really become that paranoid?

She held back a frustrated growl. “We _aren’t trying to-”_

_“I know,_ Annabeth,” Victoria said,  “but James is playing this against us. If anything, my support of it has made my position worse.”

“Then change the terms! Tell them we’ll send a quest, just _three_ warriors—”

“How is that better? That doesn’t solve the core argument.”

“We don’t have time for this!” Annabeth said, her temper slipping a bit. “Scott could be _dead_ for all we know—”

“What _more_ do you suggest I do?” Victoria demanded. “Between this, chasing leads on Alicia, and stalling a _war,_ I still have to answer to my people, whose population recently _quadrupled. I’m doing_ _all that I can._ Don’t ask more of me.”

Annabeth bit her lip, cooling under the Praetor’s harsh gaze. No wonder the _Draconicida_ had such a fierce reputation. “I’m sorry, Victoria. You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

Victoria sighed. “I understand, you know. But it’s been over a week with no sign. It might be time to face the facts.”

“You want us to _give up?_ You, of all people?”

“It’s not about giving up. It’s about cutting your losses. Don’t think I don’t know how this will play out. If you don’t get approval, your Hermes boys will go on their own, and if they’re caught violating the Neutral Zone, that _will_ start a war. How many lives would that cost for a _chance_ at saving one?”

It was simple math, calculated and cold. The numbers didn’t lie. Even still, Annabeth found the prospect of abandoning a fellow demigod revolting. She couldn’t stomach it. Not after the friends she’d lost in the Titan and Giant Wars, almost two decades before.

Victoria didn’t bat an eye at it. Only eighteen, talking about cutting losses and weighing lives. Even compared to Percy — battle-forged and Tartarus-scarred Percy — there was a hardness to her. Could she really be a daughter of Venus? What must she have been like before she earned her titles along with her scars?

Annabeth cleared her throat. “We’re not giving up on him yet. Not until we have irrefutable proof that he’s gone.”

“I assumed so,” Victoria sighed. “Try not to do anything _too_ stupid. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have people to babysit.” With that, she waved her hand through the image, and it disappeared, leaving only the rainbow pattern on the wall.

Annabeth leaned against the table and put her face in her hands. The Hermes kids wouldn’t take kindly to this. And at a time when one tiny mistake could cause it all to go wrong… she was barely holding it together. Gods only knew how Victoria managed it. But then again, she was made of sterner stuff than Annabeth had thought.

_She’d do much better as a centurion… She almost seems like…_

Annabeth pondered it. Could Victoria be… No, it wasn’t likely. Tough as Victoria seemed, she was still a child of Venus. No sense considering it without hard evidence. But they had no other real candidates so far…

_“War is coming. Knight, Thief, Mage, Warlord, Hunter, Ruler. These six will be the key to everything. Prepare them!”_

Even with so many other stresses gnawing at Annabeth, Poseidon’s warning was a constant in the back of her mind. Though the words didn’t rhyme, there was something unmistakably prophetic about them. Was war between the camps really inevitable? Were all of their diplomatic efforts for nothing?

Annabeth had spent every moment she could spare trying to identify the demigods Poseidon had spoken of. The results weren’t promising. She had no clear lead on Warlord beyond a general assumption that it would be a child of Ares or Athena. Her best guess for Hunter was one of the Hunters of Artemis, though it was impossible to know which yet.

And for Ruler… This one stumped her the most. Demigods didn’t have rulers in the traditional sense of the word. They _couldn’t —_ they were far too independent for that. The closest thing they had were the Praetors, but they held less power than people assumed, often at the mercy of the Senate and their campers. Of the two of them, James fit the leadership role better, though Annabeth dearly hoped it wasn’t him.

Or perhaps it could be referring to a splinter group like the Amazons, who _did_ have a demigod queen. Hylla would be a good candidate, though she was several years Annabeth’s senior.

Those options made the most sense, but… why did Annabeth feel like she was missing something?

At least the other three had been easier. Mage only had one possible candidate. Knight was too perfect a descriptor for who they assumed it was. And though Thief had more candidates than the other five combined, the timing of one’s arrival alongside the Knight couldn’t be a coincidence. Coincidences didn’t _exist_ for demigods.

As certain as she felt about those three, Annabeth couldn’t be satisfied. They weren’t the most… _stable_ of people.

_I hope to Olympus they’re not needed anytime soon. But with our luck…_

Worry about that later. For now, she had to check up on those three and make sure they weren’t stealing things or blowing up cabins or beating up campers. Unfortunately, she also had well over a thousand campers to tend to. It wouldn’t be _quite_ so daunting now that the summer campers were several days settled — nothing beat the chaos of the first day — but it still wasn’t something she looked forward to.

_Lucy first,_ Annabeth thought as she made her way to the front door. _She should be training with Percy around now..._

A hot wind hit her as she opened the door. She put a hand up to shield her eyes, squinting in the midday sun. Almost immediately she was set upon by insects, drawn to her by the sweat that had already started forming on her skin. A minor annoyance, but one that chipped away at her fraying patience. Sweat and bugs, her _absolute favorite_ part of summer.

At least the day was a beautiful one. The sky was brilliant blue, not a single cloud in sight. The valley stretched out from Half-Blood Hill in waves of luscious green grass dotted by clovers and colorful patches of wildflowers. The strawberry fields were in full bloom, their leaves and vines dancing happily in the breeze as satyrs and campers tenderly cared for the plants. The lake was deep blue, a mirror of the sky above broken by the groups of campers canoeing across it. Naiads swam around and beneath them, occasionally splashing or tipping one over with a laugh.

The cabins were far busier. The lawns in the middle of each of the two rectangles were swarming with kids in orange camp shirts of all ages and sizes, darting in and out of cabins as they prepared for midday breaks and lunch. Their bustle was like a small city, loud enough that it could be heard even from the Big House. Annabeth still found the contrast between the number of campers and the size of the cabins jarring, subconsciously thinking of them as the one-or-two-floor cabins of her days. Indeed, were it not for the multiple added sublevels in most of the cabins, they would have nowhere near enough room. They were pushing the limits as it was.

One thing that _hadn’t_ increased proportionally was camp staff. As such, Annabeth was often the first and _only_ person campers came to with problems. At least a dozen had approached her before she got to the bottom of Half-Blood Hill. Most of their problems were trivial, yet Annabeth managed to keep a calm voice for each. Internally, she wanted to scream. It took her over half an hour to reach the arena, a walk that usually took less than five minutes from the Big House.

“Gods,” she whispered to herself as the last one, a Hypnos boy of eight, left her at the arena entrance. “I’m not paid enough for this.” Of course, if there were extra money in the budget to pay her more, they could afford some extra staff. A bit of a moot point.

Clangs of metal on metal echoed through the halls that led to the arena floor, punctuated by the occasional shout. Annabeth stepped out into the dirt pitch to find it empty save for two combatants at the center. Percy and Lucy were engaged in a heated duel of swords, Percy with Riptide, Lucy with a mid-length bronze blade. They didn’t stop as Annabeth approached; they didn’t even seem to notice her. Not wanting to interrupt, she stood back a good ways and crossed her arms to watch.

It was a point of annoyance for Annabeth how most popular media depicted duels as static things, two people standing in one place awkwardly banging swords together. A lot of new campers started out fighting like that, keeping their feet rooted to the ground. Then when Percy told them that they needed to be mobile, they overcompensated, darting around so much you could hold a sword out and let them do the work for you.

Lucy didn’t have such failings. She moved when she needed momentum, and she planted her feet to deliver and block strong strikes. She read Percy’s actions and responded as was appropriate, like a partner following the lead in an intricate dance. Sometimes she took the lead, her moves dictating Percy’s actions. Not often, and not for long, but it still surprised Annabeth. Percy was widely regarded to be the best swordsman the camp had ever had, even by Chiron. Controlling a fight with him, even for an instant, was no small feat.

They’d been at this for a while, judging by the sweat on their brows and the dirt on their clothes. Percy seemed a bit more sluggish than usual. Even still, they kept at it with vigor. Percy noticed Annabeth but didn’t move to call off the fight. He kept his eyes firmly locked on Lucy’s face. It seemed like he was waiting for something.

Annabeth noticed it. As the fight wore on, Lucy’s movements became steadily more aggressive. Her defense became sloppy, her attacks faster and her stances more tense. The calm frown she’d worn turned into a scowl, and her shouts became snarls. At one point, she even tried to _punch_ Percy with her offhand.

It didn’t take long after that for Percy to disarm her and knock her into the dirt. She slammed her first into the ground beside her head, cursing. Percy frowned down at her, breathing heavily and wiping his brow. “You let it happen again.”

“You keep _making_ it happen!” Lucy snapped back at him, venom in her voice that shocked Annabeth. She’d never heard the soft-spoken girl talk like that before.

“I didn’t even try to that time,” Percy said. “You had it under control, then let it slip out.”

Lucy groaned, pushing herself to one knee. She glared at the ground and grit her teeth. “I didn’t mean to.”

“That’s the problem.”

Lucy closed her eyes tightly, trying to calm herself. “I’m _trying._ ”

“I know you are, Lucy,” Percy said wearily. Notably, he hadn’t capped Riptide yet, still holding it by his side. “You’re getting better, but you’re not there yet. I’m not letting you train with the others again until you _prove_ to me you can keep it under control.”

That sobered Lucy up. The tension melted from her body and face, tired resignation replacing it. She continued staring at the ground, though now she seemed on the verge of tears. “I shouldn’t train with the others,” she said, anger gone from her voice. “I’d hurt them.”

“Don’t say that,” Percy said, though he seemed unsure of his words. “It’s a common problem, Lucy. People lose themselves in the heat of a fight. Controlling it is a skill that can be learned.”

“Do you have to put everyone else through this?”

“No,” Percy admitted, “but not everyone else is as skilled as you are. It’s more important for you, since you’re—”

“Dangerous?”

Percy froze with his mouth open, at a loss for words. He looked to Annabeth, but she had none for him either. _Dangerous_ was exactly the word she’d use to describe Lucy.

Lucy grabbed her sword from the dirt and stood. Percy’s hand tightened on Riptide’s hilt, but Lucy sheathed the blade with a tired sigh. Percy relaxed and capped Riptide, stowing the pen in his pocket. Lucy finally noticed Annabeth was there, giving her a half-hearted wave. “Hey, Annabeth.”

“Morning, Lucy,” Annabeth said as casually as she could. “Training going well?”

“No,” Lucy said, casting her gaze to the ground. “Maybe I shouldn’t be here.”

The statement surprised both Percy and Annabeth. Did she mean here as in the camp? “What makes you say that?” Annabeth asked.

“I don’t know,” Lucy muttered. “I need to shower before I meet Chiron. Excuse me.” With that, she ran off to the nearest exit, despite her exhaustion, despite the fact that the showers were in the complete opposite direction.

Annabeth watched her go, unnerved, then turned to Percy. “She always like that?”

“Like which part?” Percy said, sounding more tired than he looked. “Timid and running off, or angry and trying to kill me?”

“The latter.”

“Yeah. She gets that way a lot.” Percy rolled his arms and bent from side to side, grunting as he stretched aching muscles.

Annabeth frowned. “I’ve never seen her act like that.” In every lesson Annabeth taught, Lucy was quiet and respectful, though she often got distracted and doodled, which was to be expected for a demigod. Outside of class, she was the same, despite the outward hostility most of the other campers showed her these days. In fact, to Annabeth’s knowledge, she still asked them if they needed help with chores, though many refused her.

Percy shook his head. “I mean in battle. The way she gets when we fight… She _has_ gotten better, but at first…” Annabeth thought he might’ve shuddered. “I’d swear she _was_ trying to kill me, Annabeth. Seeing that, I can understand how she hurt those Ares kids so badly.”

Four of the five Ares campers Lucy had injured a week prior had made full recoveries. The last was still on crutches, her entire leg in a cast to support her shattered knee. They’d each been given menial tasks throughout the camp as punishment for ganging up on Kat. That just seemed to make them more hateful of her, and now of Lucy. They’d have to be watched, lest they try to get payback somehow.

Though Lucy’d had noble intentions, she’d been given a much harsher punishment. She could now only do combat training with Percy, and was restricted from most other activities until she proved she could control herself. When she wasn’t doing that, she was doing chores for Chiron around the camp. Usually the most undesirable ones, like cleaning the stables and the bathrooms. Chiron had also made it clear that she was on indefinite probation. Another incident like that, and she would be kicked out of the camp.

Annabeth had never once heard Lucy complain about any of this. She just nodded like she deserved it and threw herself at her chores with abandon. She even asked Chiron for more work when she finished all he assigned to her, seeming disappointed when she was sent home for the night.

_What the hell is that girl’s story?_ Annabeth wondered, not for the first time. She had no doubt that Lucy was the Knight that Poseidon had spoken of. It made too much sense, with how skilled she was with a blade and how she offered aid even to those who scorned her. But even still, there was _something_ about her...

“It would help if we knew her parentage,” Annabeth said. Yet another concern about Lucy. Just over two weeks since her arrival, and _still_ she hadn’t been claimed. Since Percy’s deal nearly two decades before, such a span without a claiming was unprecedented. It was concerning enough that Chiron and Percy had petitioned Olympus for an answer, though both had been ignored. “We know she’s got war god blood on her mother’s side. If her father is a war god too, that could explain her hot temper in battle.”

Percy grunted. “Maybe, but most war kids I know tend to be hot-headed outside of battle too. I still wonder if it’s not…” He trailed off.

Annabeth knew he was thinking of his theory from the day of the incident. The one both she and Chiron deemed impossible. She didn’t want to consider it, though she knew that was unwise. It _had_ to be impossible. If it wasn’t…

“We could know for sure,” Annabeth said, “if either Kat or Victoria would make any progress in their investigations.”

Percy raised an eyebrow. “I thought Victoria said Reyna might know something about Lucy’s mom. She hasn’t asked her yet?”

“Reyna is still with the Amazons. Some religious festival of theirs is going on right now. She’d cause offense if she left early, especially since she’s the sister of their queen. Apparently they involve her enough that she doesn’t have time for calls either.”

Percy rolled his eyes. “Figures they’d throw a party during this mess. And what about Kat? Hasn’t Lucy been _living_ with her since the incident?”

Annabeth pursed her lips. Another complication. “Yeah. To my knowledge, she still hasn’t found anything. Though… I’m not sure she’s been looking all that hard.”

Percy grunted, continuing his stretches.

“You’ve heard the rumors, I assume.”

Percy scowled. “The rumors are bullshit, Beth.”

“I _meant_ the rumors about what they do with their time.”

“And most of those are bullshit too.”

“Most,” Annabeth said pointedly. “But _some_ of them might have some credibility.”

Percy said nothing. She could tell he knew which ones she meant. “What about it?”

“What do you mean what about it?” Annabeth asked somewhat incredulously. _After what happened last time?_

Percy sighed. “Beth, I’ll be honest. Whatever they’re doing in there, I don’t care. I’m just glad to see Kat have someone her own age to trust. She needs that. Let them be. They’re not hurting anyone.”

_Not yet,_ she thought, though it sickened her. She wanted to agree with him, but…

Annabeth rubbed her temples. “I’m sorry. It’s… been a hard morning.”

Percy finished his stretches, his expression softening. “I know. Come here.”

She rushed into his arms, heedless of his sweat. They shared an affectionate kiss. A short one, but still what Annabeth needed. They didn’t get enough time for each other these days, so every small moment was precious. She yearned for days long past, when the camps had still been cordial and there was no war hanging over their heads. But they were half-bloods. There was always the next great shadow on the horizon. All they could do was roll with the punches.

She sighed as their lips parted. “We should hide in the Big House,” she whispered. “Lock the door and not let anyone in.”

Percy grinned. “Wow. Usually _I_ have to suggest skipping work.”

“Oh don’t get me wrong, I’m gonna say it was your idea.”

“I’ll gladly take blame if we actually do it.”

“Would you take the blame for the camp burning down without us?”

Percy snorted. “Good point. Let’s call up Jason and Piper first, get them to come fill in for us.”

“Perfect, Jason can show them all exactly how to beat you in a fight.”

“Hey now—”

Annabeth laughed at his incredulous expression. She’d needed that. After a moment he chuckled with her. He’d gotten over that enough to laugh about it now. Mostly.

The din of the camp outside the arena grew louder, shouts filling the air. They both sighed. “Well, duty calls,” Percy said.

“Indeed.”

They pecked each other on the lips again, then rushed outside to break up a fight that was brewing outside Cabin Five-One. The dispute was trivial — something about an older kid wanting to move up to a higher floor than a younger one — but as Percy had noted, children of war gods like Ares tended to be hot-blooded.

Once that was settled, Percy went off toward Cabin Three where some of his siblings were waving for him. It had substantially less campers than most of the others, as Poseidon had relatively few children, though it still would have dwarfed even the Hermes cabin of Annabeth’s camp days. She was still sometimes taken aback by how much larger the camp had grown in that time. The gods had taken their… _celebrations_ after the Giant War to an extreme. She tried not to think too hard about that, refocusing on her task.

_One down. Two to go._

While the other cabins had boomed, there was one instance where the complete opposite had happened. Annabeth made her way in that direction, pushing through the crowds of children and teenagers preparing to go to lunch. Several of them caught her by the arm as they passed with questions or requests. When she finally reached Cabin Twenty, the people clamoring for her attention made excuses and backed off. She scowled at the looks they gave the building. One day she’d find a solution to that, when there wasn’t quite so much on her plate.

Though… with what lay in the Big House’s sick ward, perhaps some of their fear was warranted.

Annabeth knocked twice above the knob, then once below. The lock clicked, and she pushed the door open. Blinding light forced a hand to her eyes, metallic screeching piercing her ears as she crossed the soundproofing spells on the cabin walls. Natural that Kat would be deep in her experiments by now. How far in was safe to go depended on _which_ Kat was working.

The screeching suddenly stopped, and the light faded. “Don’t look! I’m not— Oh, it’s just you, Annabeth.”

Annabeth uncovered her eyes, still seeing the afterimage of the light. “I’m not about to get thrown across the room again, am I?”

Kat gave a guilty chuckle. “Ehehe, uh, no. Er, probably not. Maybe? I’m not sure yet. Mist knows I’ve been a few times. If I had a drachma for every workbench I’ve had to replace since I started...”

Ah. Smith Kat, then. One of her more sociable — if manic — personas. Good for talking to and checking up on Kat’s overall well-being, so long as you stepped _very_ lightly around whatever she was working on.

Kat stepped away from the station she’d been working at, which was now covered by a white sheet. She pulled a welding mask off her head and set it on the nearest table, dusting blackened hands on her thick apron. Her snow white hair was tied back in a hasty bun. She grinned at Annabeth, pale eyes twinkling with delight at having a visitor. Annabeth smiled back, forcing down her instinctive trepidation at Kat’s unnatural appearance. One would think she’d have grown accustomed to that by now.

“Woo,” Kat breathed an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Good timing, really. I could use a break.”

Annabeth eyed the sheet. “What’s under there?”

“Oh, nothing, just a… personal project.”

Between all of Kat’s personas — the ones Annabeth knew about at least — she had to have several dozen “personal projects.” Some she would openly chat about for hours on end, while others she kept tight-lipped and secretive. It mostly depended on the persona running the project. Smith Kat was usually very open and delighted to share her findings.

Last Annabeth remembered, she’d been working on a way to combine Celestial Bronze with Imperial Gold to form an even stronger alloy. Though Annabeth was fascinated by many of Kat’s projects, she had a particular interest in that one. Stronger metals could mean stronger weapons, which meant better odds of survival for demigods. Was this related to that, or something else?

“A hint, at least?” Annabeth said.

Kat glanced to the door. “Okay, but promise not to tell… It’s a bit of a… _gift_ for Lucy.”

Annabeth raised an eyebrow. “What kind of gift?”

“Something I just _know_ she’ll love. But she can’t know it’s a gift, or she won’t take it. You know how she is with gifts.”

Actually, Annabeth _didn’t_ know how she was with gifts. The fact that Kat, the recluse of the camp, _did_ know spoke volumes.

Annabeth looked around the cluttered room. Since she didn’t have siblings to share space with, Kat had turned the main floor into a combination of library and laboratory. Bookshelves lined almost every stretch of the walls, some filled with textbooks, others with notebooks, and some with tools and instruments. Much of the floorspace was taken up by desks and tables, each of which held papers and tools for different projects. Kat’s bed, nightstand and wardrobe took up the far right corner, and a small kitchen area occupied the far left one. Living space all the way in back, an afterthought compared to her projects.

It was typical for Kat to be a bit disorganized, but this place seemed _tidier_ than usual. Several desks had two chairs pulled up to them, with pairs of coke cans and plates sitting at a few of them. In the small kitchen area, there was now a second mini fridge identical to Kat’s original one. Still only one bed, though. Annabeth narrowed her eyes at that.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Lucy then?”

Annabeth didn’t miss the small smile that crossed Kat’s lips. “Yes… she’s been helping me with some of my projects. She’s a very good assistant.”

“Mmm. And outside of that?”

Kat frowned. “What else would there be?”

“You’ve been letting her stay here since the… incident.”

Kat stared hard at the nearest desk. “Oh, that… Yes, I have. I know it’s against camp policy, but I couldn’t just let her keep staying in the Hermes cabin after—”

“I think it’s good of you to let her stay here, Kat.”

“I— You do?”

“Yes. You’re right that her living conditions in Hermes wouldn’t be… good right now. It’s kind of you.”

Kat looked relieved. “Er, yeah… just returning the favor is all.”

“Quite the favor,” Annabeth noted. “Sharing your living space must be hard for you.”

There was a question implicit in that statement. _Are you sharing anything else?_

Kat didn’t catch it. “Not as hard as I would think, actually. Lucy helps tidy the place a bit, and she’s such a great help with my projects. The only real downside is having to make two helpings of every meal, but she helps with that too. That and she snores a bit, but I can barely hear it from up here.”

So Lucy was sleeping in the basement. Nothing down there but spare beds and wardrobes, to Annabeth’s knowledge. Kat could be lying, of course, but Annabeth wouldn’t press her on it. The implication would be mortifying for any teenager, much more so for one as socially stunted as Kat.

_Mind how you toe that line, Kat…_

“Aside from that, how are you feeling?” Annabeth asked. “You’ve been getting enough sleep?”

“Yes, actually. Lucy’s been hard on me about that… But I’ve found my productivity has gone up since I adopted a normal sleep cycle. The Healer gave me an earful about how she’s been saying that all this time and how much you guys always said it, but it’s a whole other thing to actually _feel it,_ you know?”

Annabeth grew more serious. “No attacks recently?”

Kat’s face fell, and she fingered the ruby set in her pendant. “No. I think… the charms I have this time will hold. It’s been long enough.”

Annabeth nodded. “That’s good to hear. That must be a weight off you.”

“Not really,” Kat mumbled. “Not when she’s still…”

She was clearly still feeling guilty about that, even with the cheery Smith persona. _Oh, Kat._ Annabeth was stern about the risk of it happening again, but Kat acted like she _deserved_ everything that happened to her because of it. That was true no matter which Kat you were dealing with, though some hid it better than others.

Annabeth put a comforting hand on Kat’s shoulder. “You shouldn’t blame yourself,” she said for what must have been the thousandth time. “You’ll find a way.”

“I hope so… I… still haven’t told Lucy yet…”

How would Lucy react, Annabeth wondered? Though she didn’t know, she said, “I don’t think that Lucy will blame you either. _It’s not your fault._ ”

“Right,” Kat whispered. “It’s not my fault...” One of these days, they’d get her to believe it. Hopefully.

Annabeth gave her a gentle hug. Some of the Kats shied away from physical contact. Smith Kat seemed to crave it, squeezing Annabeth back with a soft sigh. Though part of Annabeth feared what Kat could do, she mostly felt sympathy for the poor girl. She didn’t deserve to be hated and feared by the others as she was. Try as they might, she, Percy and Chiron had not been able to stamp that out. The incident with the Ares campers had been the first time they’d actually hurt her instead of just calling out insults. They might try something even more drastic soon.

Yet another thing to worry about.

But at least there was some good in Kat’s life these days. Lucy seemed to be having a positive influence so far. She even had Kat sleeping at regular hours. Annabeth and Chiron had been trying to drill that into her head for years to no avail. Percy had a point. Whatever else those two were up to in here, at least Kat had someone to call a friend again.

_That could turn bad just as easily, with how Kat can get…_

She hoped it didn’t come to that, since she and Lucy would likely be working together in times to come. While Lucy was merely the _best_ candidate for Knight, Kat was the _only_ candidate for Mage. It was possible for other demigods to learn magic, but none attending either camp currently did, fearing that it might curse them as it seemed to have done to the other children of Hecate. Kat was the last, and there’d been no new ones in almost a decade now. They still didn’t know why. Could she have been spared by the Fates for some greater purpose, related to Poseidon’s warning?

_Olympus protect you, Kat. If Olympus doesn’t need to protect us from you,_ Annabeth thought despite herself.

She shrugged off that happy sentiment as she released Kat. Best to give her the benefit of the doubt. “Well, I’ll let you get back to it. I’ve still got the mob to take care of.”

Kat chuckled, though she seemed to shudder at the thought of a mob of people. “Good luck to you! And remember, not a word to Lucy!”

“Scout’s honor,” Annabeth said, hand to her heart. “Take care, Kat.”

“You too!” With that, Kat grabbed her welding mask and slipped it back on, darting to her workstation. The blinding light flashed again, screeching starting back up as Annabeth stepped outside. It completely vanished when she closed the door, lock clicking back in place.

_Okay… One more._

Campers approached her again when she was away from Cabin Twenty. It took all her patience not to simply wave them away. Some of them were brand new campers in their first week and genuinely needed help. She endured for their sake, slowly making her way towards Cabin Eleven-One. Unfortunately, Eleven-One was one of the most crowded cabins, so the questions only became more dense the closer she got. Annabeth grit her teeth, certain Athena was watching her with either pride or amusement.

_I hope Percy isn’t too sore tonight,_ Annabeth thought wryly. _I’m gonna need a LOT of stress relief._

After what felt like an eternity, she finally made it inside the cabin. The top floor was crowded, but mostly with people going to and from the stairs as they stashed morning equipment. Some people sat on their bunks chatting or playing simple card games. Though their ages, skin tones and hair colors varied widely, they all had similar sharp features and sky blue eyes. Several eyed Annabeth as she passed, sitting up a bit straighter and stopping conversation. Her skin prickled. She could never shake the feeling that the Hermes kids were sizing her up when they looked at her. Her hand drifted to her pocket unconsciously, though she carried nothing worth taking.

Cael’s bed was empty. Usually newer or younger campers had to sleep in one of the lower floors, but there was an unspoken rule that the year-round campers got the main floor beds. Perhaps he’d already gone to lunch. She stopped one of the older Hermes boys. “Do you know where Cael is?”

“Who?” The boy asked, cocking his head.

Right, the summer kids probably didn’t know him yet. Hermes had more kids than any other god, so keeping track of their dozens of siblings had to be difficult enough without newcomers. “Chet,” Annabeth amended. “Where’s Chet at?” Everyone knew Chet, and Cael had been glued to his hip since he’d arrived.

“Oh. He’s, uh… downstairs I think? Not sure. I can go get him if you want.”

Annabeth rolled her eyes. That meant he’d be in their little secret hideout on the bottomost floor, where they’d set up their smuggled-in game consoles and TVs. Honestly, did they still think the camp staff didn’t know about that? “I’ll head down myself, thanks.”

The boy tried to make some arguments, no doubt to stop her from finding the hideout, but she brushed him off and he trudged away in defeat. She made her way down mostly identical floors filled with bunks and wardrobes. Though the decor varied a bit between floors, it tended to fit the “nerdy” theme, with game and comic posters being the most prevalent.

Annabeth had to wonder how many of those were legitimately owned by the campers. Many Hermes children were either from poor families or were street urchins, and Hermes being god of thieves didn’t help. At least they were good about keeping a code of honor. They didn’t try to steal weapons or personal valuables, and returned them promptly if asked. Annabeth still didn’t approve, but there wasn’t much else to be done about it. Previous attempts by camp staff to discourage theft had just made the Hermes kids more crafty about it.

She reached what was ostensibly the bottom floor, occupied by only a few bunks. On the door that led to the stairs on every other floor, there was an official looking sign that said “boiler room.” Annabeth rolled her eyes. All of the cabins stayed heated during the winter and didn’t require boilers. The only exception was Hephaestus, who used it for in-house smithing projects. Kat just used magic, though she’d inquired about a boiler to ease the amount of energy she expended on heating metal.

Annabeth tried the handle of the door and found it locked. She frowned, but before she could move a voice on the other side said, “Password?”

“It’s Annabeth. Open up.”

“A-Annabeth?” the voice sputtered. “U-Uh, there’s nothing to open up here! Just a boiler room!”

“Uh huh,” Annabeth said, crossing her arms. “And what are you doing in the boiler room?”

“Uh… Warming up! Feeling a bit chilly, you know?”

“It’s eighty degrees.”

“I get sunburned real easy.”

“It’s eighty degrees _inside._ ”

“That’s really chilly in Kelvin.”

Annabeth chuckled softly. Hermes kids were usually silver-tongued when it came to weaving lies, but they usually had time to think. Part of her wanted to keep prodding at him just to see how far he’d dig himself, but she did have other things that needed doing later. “Look, I know about your hideout and your gaming setups, and I don’t care. I’m not here to shut it down. I just need to talk to Cael.”

The voice on the other side paused. “Really? Well, uh… I can go get him if you—”

“Thanks, but I’d like to get him myself.”

The voice audibly sighed, but the lock clicked and the door swung open. Surprise surprise, it revealed another set of stairs going down. The doorman — Jasper, she thought his name was — didn’t meet her eyes. “He’s down there. Go in quiet, they’re in the middle of a tournament.”

Shouting and music echoed in the stairwell as she walked down. They likely felt they had to hide it because of the camp’s disdain for electronics. It wasn’t meant to be a hard ban, just discouragement. Using electronics outside of camp was dangerous for demigods, and they had to get accustomed to life without them. Still, teenagers and their video games…

Annabeth paused on the stairs as the room came into view. It was about the same size as every other floor and covered in game and comic posters. Instead of bunks, there were futons, bean bag chairs, and card tables. Many TVs and computers were set up at various stations around the perimeter of the room. Everyone in the room, a small crowd of about twenty of the year-rounders, was seated facing an enormous TV mounted on the far wall. They were all clapping in time with the music blaring from the speakers on either side of the screen.

Out in the floor between the crowd and the TV stood a single skinny, black-haired boy that Annabeth thought was Cael, though many of his siblings looked like that. He was shifting his body in time with the music, popping his hips and sweeping his pointed finger across an invisible audience. In his right hand, he held a microphone.

_“If you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it! If you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it!”_ Cael sang in a high falsetto, throwing more energy into his motions. The campers watching laughed and clapped, encouraging him. Annabeth blinked, unsure if she should proceed. Perhaps it’d be best if she waited a bit—

Cael twirled on one foot in an exaggerated ballerina imitation. He pointed at different audience members as he sang, a huge grin on his face. In the middle of the next chorus, he spotted Annabeth watching awkwardly from the stairs.

He sputtered to a stop and dropped the microphone, cheeks going bright red. Everyone else turned. A long moment passed while the game’s music continued on. Then they all burst into laughter. A couple of them stood to clap a mortified Cael on the shoulder.

_Oh dear,_ Annabeth grimaced, finishing her descent. _He’ll never hear the end of this, will he?_

Chet had an arm around Cael’s shoulder by the time she reached them, laughing his head off. “Heeeey, Annabeth! You got here just in time for the best show in camp!” The others laughed at that.

“I thought you said this place was secret,” Cael muttered, his face still crimson.

“Ah, well,” Chet sighed, “it couldn’t stay that way, I guess.” He looked at Annabeth, trying not to seem worried. “So… you here to break all this up, or—”

“No, Chet,” she said. “I don’t _approve,_ but it’s not strictly against any camp rules… As long as this stuff was _yours,_ right?” Everyone in the room nodded vigorously at that. Why oh why did she not believe that? On another day she might have pursued it further, but for now she really couldn’t be bothered. “Anyway, I’m just here to talk to Cael.”

There were several _“Oooooooohs”_ and _“R.I.P.s”_ among his siblings. Chet clapped him on the shoulder one more time, then nudged him toward Annabeth. “And here he was looking to be the new champ! Better luck next round I guess. He’s all yours chief. If he says anything incriminating, _don’t believe him._ ”

They all laughed again. Emile and Natalie gave Cael well wishes as he trudged over to Annabeth. She led him over by the stairs, but didn’t move to leave the room. Everyone else settled back down to chat and laugh with each other, though they were courteous enough to pause the game’s music.  

“I do something wrong?” Cael asked quietly. “I swear, that pie didn’t have anything—”

“You’ve done nothing wrong, Cael,” Annabeth reassured him. “Er, well, that’s not what I’m here about at least.”

He relaxed a bit, though his cheeks were still pink. “Oh. Whew. You really should’ve led with that.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

He considered her with that same probing gaze his siblings were prone to using, as though sizing her up. There was something different in his eyes, something beneath the sharp attention to detail, beneath the mischievous glint. She couldn’t pick out exactly what it was.

“Well…” Cael said. “What do you need then?”

Annabeth had to keep from biting her lip. At the arena, it had looked like she’d been there to see her husband, and she regularly visited Cabin Twenty to check up on Kat. She didn’t have a convenient excuse this time. “I just wanted to check in on you. See how you’re acclimating. All these new campers must be overwhelming.”

Cael shrugged. “Eh. There’s a lot of them, sure, but in a way that’s better for me I guess.”

“Better how?”

A corner of his lip curled upward. “Well, if I had a _reasonable_ number of siblings, I’d be expected to learn all their names and birthdays and everything else. As is, I have so many now that I don’t have to bother. I can keep it small, you know?”

Annabeth considered that. “Hmm. Interesting way to look at it, if a little bit callous. And a bit lazy.”

Cael grinned. “Lazy is my middle name.”

She snorted. “Yes, that was the impression I got from the industrious level of pranks you’ve pulled since you arrived. Lazy.”

“Hey now, more than half of those were Chet’s idea.”

Annabeth frowned over at the others and lowered her voice. “Do they always treat you like that? Laughing at you, I mean.”

Cael seemed confused. “I mean, yeah, but they’re not _mean_ about it, if that’s what you mean. Just a bit of ribbing between friends, you know? Half the time I’m _trying_ to get them laughing at me.”

“You can tell me if it’s not—”

“It _isn’t,_ though. Annabeth, what’s this really about? There’s a crapload of newer and younger campers you could check in on instead. Why single me out?” He narrowed his eyes. “It’s just because I arrived so late, isn’t it? You think something might be up with me.”

Annabeth blinked, surprised. He really _was_ a perceptive one. Or maybe she was just more transparent than she thought. She sighed and nodded. “Partly, yes.”

Cael’s frown deepened. “Look, if you’re worried I’m gonna snap like Lucy did—”

“That’s not it,” Annabeth said quickly. “It’s just… I’m sure you’ve noticed Lucy hasn’t been fitting in well around here. Even before the incident last week. It’s unheard of these days for campers to arrive so late. I wanted to make sure you weren’t being treated badly because of that.”

He eyed her like he didn’t buy that explanation. “They don’t bring it up anymore. Not about me, at least. I _like_ it here, and they seem to like me, unfortunately for them. I’ve rarely even thought about—”

He stopped suddenly, going rigid. “Cael?” Annabeth said.

Cael closed his eyes, hands clenching, breathing deeply. “I’m fine. Just… not enough sleep.”

She watched him try to calm himself with worry. He grimaced as he breathed, as though each breath pained him. She’d seen it happen to him before, at seemingly random times. One minute, he’d be cheerfully sharing jokes in class or prepping a prank with Chet. The next, he’d be stiff as a board, face screwed up, though whether in pain or focus, she could never tell. Perhaps it was both.

She’d seen and felt something similar before. It occasionally happened to Percy, and to her, when the memories of their time in Tartarus came surging back in force. At times they could block it out before it really hit them. Others, it was all they could do to keep from collapsing and crying on the floor as they relived torments too terrible to comprehend.

Though they’d both sought treatment for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, there was only so much mundane and even magical methods could do compared to the horrors they’d experienced.

_What are you holding back, Cael?_ Annabeth thought. _What did you go through before you came here?_

She knew better than to ask. Rare was the demigod with a good past to talk about. It was an unspoken rule among them that you didn’t ask unless they offered the story on their own. Maybe that wasn’t the best approach, but it had to be their decision. Forcing them to tell would make it worse.

After a long several moments, Cael relaxed again. When he opened his eyes, he looked weary, as though he’d been straining to stay awake for several hours past curfew. He ran his hands across his face slowly. “Was there something else you wanted?” he asked, sounding as tired as he looked.

There were many things she wanted related to him. She wanted to know for certain that he really was the Thief that Poseidon had spoken of, though his arrival alongside Lucy was too convenient to be a coincidence. She wanted to know why Hermes had “forgotten” him for so long, when Hermes was usually one of the most diligent gods when it came to informing camp of his children. She wanted to know what was going on between him and Lucy, why she antagonized him when she treated everyone else politely, fighting excepted.

But he wasn’t likely to have any answers, and the questions would make him suspect her more. Perceptive as he was, he might unravel all her suspicions about him in one go.

Annabeth shook her head. “No. It’s good to hear you’re fitting in well, Cael. I’m glad. Just… try to stay alert, okay? Be prepared for anything. Things could go downhill quickly around here soon.”

“With the Romans, you mean? Did they approve us to look for Scott?”

He’d said it a bit louder than she would’ve liked, and a couple of the others caught it from across the room. They stood and cut off all conversation, and within moments there was a crowd of very concerned looking Hermes kids standing around her. Chet stepped up to the front, eyes hopeful. “Can we go? Or has he turned up finally?”

Annabeth sighed. She’d hoped to do this more carefully to minimize the potential damage. No avoiding it now. “No, we haven’t been approved yet, _but—”_

Her next words were cut off by cries of indignant outrage. Seeing the normally cheerful Hermes kids red faced and swearing was jarring. Chet in particular looked half between wanting scream and cry.

_“Why?!”_ Chet demanded. _“Those Roman sons of—”_

_“Enough!”_ Annabeth shouted. “We are _working on it—”_

“There’s no time to work on it!” Chet shouted. “Scott could be _dead,_ and we’re worried about fucking _politics?_ Fuck that, fuck them, I say we just go and— _”_

_“No, Chet,”_ Annabeth said as firmly as she could, her patience cracking under the strain. “If we violate the Neutral Zone without approval, that _will_ start a war. Would Scott want you to do that for his sake?”

“He would if we don’t get caught,” Chet growled. Many of the Hermes kids nodded in agreement. Cael said nothing, looking troubled.

“We are absolutely _not_ taking that risk.” Annabeth said, almost wanting to plead with them to see sense. They were so eager to throw it all away, to throw the lives of their friends and fellow campers away for nothing.

How could she make them see how stupid that was? How could she explain the horrors of the Titan and Giant Wars, of fighting and killing half-bloods that had once been your comrades, of being surrounded by so much death and chaos that you started questioning if you wanted to see tomorrow? _Could_ you explain that to someone, to _teenagers,_ who hadn’t experienced it for themselves?

Chet gnashed his teeth, glaring at the floor. For a moment he seemed to be thinking it over. Then he turned to his siblings. “I’ll take three or four volunteers. Pack lightly, we’re leaving in the—”

Annabeth’s patience ran out.

_“You’ll do no such thing,”_ she growled so fiercely that the Hermes kids’ anger was replaced by shock. She lifted a finger and put it to Chet’s chest. “Both Hermes cabins will be up and ready for roll call by seven every morning. If _a single_ Hermes camper is unaccounted for, they’ll be immediately disavowed and exiled from the camp permanently. I swear this to you on the River Styx.”

Chet gaped at her as thunder rumbled through the building. He was so taken aback by her oath and her glare that he couldn’t find words, his anger now forgotten. “Y-you… You _can’t_ do that—”

“I can, and I _will,”_ she said. “If that’s what it takes to stop you all from killing each other, then so be it!”

She turned to go. Cael’s voice stopped her. “What about Scott?”

Annabeth didn’t look back. “We’re not starting a war to save one person. I’m sorry.” She stomped up the stairs, past a stunned Jasper, slamming the door on a completely silent room.

She made it three steps away from the door before her anger burned out, instantly replaced by regret. She’d never been so harsh with her campers in all her time as an instructor. She understood their frustration, even felt it herself. She’d done things just as stupid or even stupider for her friends back in the day.

But she also saw the full picture in a way they never could. She _couldn’t_ let war break out, no matter what else she had to do to stop it. If that meant being harsh on them, so be it. If it meant them growing to hate her, so be it. If it meant casting aside her pride, her patience, her supposed wisdom, then so be it.

She still had to hold back tears on her way out of the cabin. Campers gave her a wide berth, none trying to stop her for questions now. She’d have probably snapped at them if they had. Barely past noon, and this day had left her frayed beyond reason. Even the chaotic first day of the summer session hadn’t compared.

At least her three candidates were holding up. Lucy, Cael, Kat. Knight, Thief, Mage. Each with skills and talents that set them apart from their fellows. Each plagued by demons apart from their fellows. And each, undoubtedly, completely unprepared for what lie ahead, whatever it may be.

_Prepare them,_ Annabeth thought darkly as she stepped back out into the sweltering midday heat. _Prepare them for what? For this? I can barely handle it myself._

Part of her wanted to go find Percy and make good on her suggestion to barricade themselves in their room in the Big House. It would be so much easier to hide from it all. But that would not be wise. And for a daughter of Athena, knowingly taking the unwise path was the greatest sin of all.

She recomposed herself and carried on. For all the frustration the rest of the day brought, she never again lost her temper. While she internally raged and screamed, pleaded and cried, wanted nothing more than to lie down and forget, she was outwardly calm and collected. It didn’t matter how frayed she became. Others needed her to be strong, and so she was.

When the passing years had shifted so much else, that simple fact never changed.


	16. False Flag

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter beta read and improved with help from [Platon.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Platon/pseuds/Platon)

**ACT TWO: SPARK**

* * *

 

_Dear brother,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I’m less certain of that than I would like. From what I’ve seen recently, there’s a good chance you’ve already suffered a horribly violent demise._

* * *

 

For many, the start of the summer camp session was worth celebrating. Sure, it meant going back to long hours spent training under the hot sun, but it also meant a kind of freedom. Freedom for the campers to be what they truly were, half-bloods, without worry of attack. Freedom from mortal, often neglectful or abusive families, from mundane schoolwork, and from the dull trappings of modern life.

Victoria had once seen summers like that. Now, she only saw the bureaucratic nightmare hundreds of newcomers brought with them.

“It’s completely unfair!” the gangly boy — his name escaped her — exclaimed. “All the barracks in the Second have two ply, but we only have _one!_ Do you have any idea how much it sucks to wipe with that? Doesn’t matter how many times you fold it, it’s gonna rip, and then…”

Victoria grit her teeth, tapped her foot, breathed hard through her nose as quietly as she could. How many “important issues” had she had to address today? Was this even close to the stupidest one? Her scowl had slipped through her mask a while ago, and she didn’t care to hide it. It should be enough that she wasn’t shouting yet. Hell, even Will was struggling to keep a straight face.

“Well?” the boy finished his tirade. “What are you going to do about it?”

Victoria struggled to keep her voice even. “I don’t see how this is my problem. All barrack supplies are managed directly by your centurion. Take it up with them.”

The boy looked confused. “I did, and she told me to come to you.”

 _Oh for fuck’s sake,_ she thought, clenching her hands. So that’s what this was about.

“Get out,” she growled.

“What? But you’re—”

“I’ll deal with it later! Get out!”

The boy scampered out of her office and slammed the door. She stood and paced behind her desk, running hands through her hair. Will said nothing, sitting quietly with his clipboard beside the desk.

“Are there any more?” Victoria asked after a long minute.

“No. That’s it for today.” Will said, his voice tired, but a weary tired instead of frustrated like hers.

 _Thank gods._ “He was from the Sixth, right?”

“Yes. So were about… twelve of the others. Their requests were the more trivial ones.”

“Violet… She’s sending me _bullshit_ to keep me distracted. James must’ve put her up to that.”

Will shuffled through a few pages. “Same for the most of the stuff from the Third. A lot of stupid problems should be expected for the start of summer, but this many this fast, all straight to a Praetor… I think you’re right.”

Naturally. James himself had hand-picked the Third’s centurion, a son of Mars named Ash. Victoria wouldn’t admit how much she envied him.

She tapped her a finger on her left leg, barely feeling the motion where her thigh was scarred.  “Make a note. Effective first thing tomorrow, I’m not taking meetings from the Sixth or the Third.”

Will’s eyes widened. “Praetor, wait-”

“I won’t let them waste my time anymore, Will!” Victoria said, needlessly raising her voice. “They won’t negotiate, so it’s pointless to leave that channel open. They have problems for a Praetor, they can go stuff themselves back up James’ ass.”

Will stood and set his clipboard down. He held up his hands in a placating gesture, his expression worried. The motion irritated her more. “Think about this for a second, _please!_ If you blacklist your _home cohort_ —”

Victoria turned away and squeezed her eyes shut. Gods, when had this room gotten so hot? She was practically slow roasting under her heavy Praetor toga. Her head pounded, her stomach rumbled, and her throat was parched. When had she last been outside? What time even was it?

She flinched at a light touch on her shoulder. “Victoria,” Will said softly,  “you need rest. Please, wait until morning before you—”

She shrugged him off and went for the door. “Good night, Will.”

His next words were cut off when she slammed the door behind her. Shame was immediate, but she shoved it into the very crowded mass of bullshit at the back of her mind. She couldn’t deal with it anymore. Not today.

She didn’t even make it down the hall before being harried by messengers. Nancy brought a request from the fawns for more food, _again._ Grace had some issues with the new cleanliness doctrine not being upheld in the First Cohort barracks. Megan, a ten-year-old _probatio_ who had only just arrived at camp, simply asked what she was supposed to do now.

Victoria waved them all off without even a glance. She didn’t trust herself not to snap at them. No reason to take it out on the newbies. They were good kids, but just a _teeny_ bit annoying at a time she had no capacity for annoyance.

The first breeze of fresh air when she stepped out of the Senate House was intoxicating. Stars were emerging in the twilight sky; she’d been in meetings longer than she’d thought. Despite the hour, the camp proper and New Rome were still bustling with activity. Just one side effect of quadrupling the camp population, it tended to stay busy right until curfew. Stuffy as her office got, it’d be a lot worse to be out during the day, baking under the summer sun in a heavy crowd.

Her worries wouldn’t stay contained. So much piled on her at once. Trying to get the Greeks permission to search for Scott Manhen, trying to find more about Alicia Isolde, trying to stall a war that seemed more and more unavoidable. Others could see how she buckled under the weight. They pressed on her, trying to make her break.

At times, she wondered if that would be so bad. It would mean an end to it, at least. She would never give in that easily, but these days it seemed like only spite for those who doubted her kept her going. It was a much longer lasting fuel than things like morals or duty, but it couldn’t burn forever.

The first fully staffed Weekly Assembly since the previous summer was set for tomorrow. Talks with the Greeks had been constant since the summer campers had arrived just under a week ago, but tensions were now higher than ever. James had been hard at work on the summer Senators and the new campers in Victoria’s allied cohorts. Meanwhile, she’d been dealing with bullshit like toilet paper.

Could a war vote pass tomorrow? Could all her struggles be for nothing?

She only briefly considered heading back to her room before shaking her head and cursing. Tired as she was, the last thing she could do right now was sleep. She needed to blow off some steam.

Ignoring more messengers and greetings from passersby, she headed for the Fields of Mars.

* * *

 

Hunter was profoundly bothered by how _dainty_ Camp Jupiter was.

The name evoked images of strength. A fortified military encampment designed to train Olympus’ elite defenders. Rows of barracks, armories, and parade grounds. Rank and file of professional soldiers clad in gleaming armor conducting drills and patrol. The very sight of it should’ve been intimidating.

Instead, it was haphazard, spread out, and _colorful._ It had to have been designed by an imbecile. They had no outer walls or perimeter patrols. A big hill, the most defensible location in the whole valley, was covered in huge temples and small shrines to their gods. A fort, the only defensive fortification he could see, was out in the middle of an open field. They even had a small city full of _non-combatants!_

Hunter could only shake his head at the idiocy of it. It made his job simpler, at least.

He scanned the hills below the ridge he crouched on. Plenty of people still out and about in the city, despite the late hour. Some light patrols and guards near what he assumed were the barracks. No one on the temple hill that he could see. The pits and trenches near the fort looked to be the best point of ingress. Not much activity there.

One more equipment check. Black leather-backed pants and jerkin, of a different style than his usual. Bronze knife hidden up his sleeve, necklace up the other. Pouch of tricks tied to his belt. Full Endurance form for the slightest possible frame. All set.

His fingers twitched, wanting a knife to toy with. He’d waited a long time for this. No time to start getting anxious.

Hunter paused as he was about to stand. There was movement near the fort now, a single figure walking towards its gate. Taller than average, with short brown hair. Though her stride lacked nobility, there was an unmistakable air of command about her. Even from here, he could recognize the intricate purple toga of one of Camp Jupiter’s Praetors.

Victoria Falken. The Dragonslayer _._

Hunter watched her, pondering. She’d been posing problems for months. With her reputation, she could be a major liability later on. Here she was, alone and completely off-guard. He’d rarely had easier or more important targets.

 _No._ The queen’s orders had been explicit. There would be no bloodshed today if it could be avoided.

Truth be told, he was grateful for the excuse.

He waited until she disappeared into the fort. Then he raised his hood and cowl, checked his sleeves one last time, and hopped off the ridge.

* * *

 

Victoria looked over her shoulder as she searched through the fort armory. She wasn’t sure why. Despite political tensions, she wasn’t paranoid. She didn’t care if someone saw what she was doing. Just being in the fort again had soothed most of her tension from the day’s troubles.

So why did the night feel _off,_ somehow?

She shook her head and went back to the racks. She was still out of sorts. Probably nothing.

“Aha!” she exclaimed, triumphantly pulling a spear from the back of the rack. It only came up to mid-torso when she planted its butt on the ground, its Imperial Gold point and shaft gleaming as though freshly polished. She rubbed her thumb against the _VF_ scratched below the spearhead. It had taken a lot of work with a hammer and chisel to put it there.

“Old friend,” she whispered to it. “Sorry I haven’t been by more often. Things were simpler when it was just you and me, eh?”

The spear didn’t speak; it didn’t have to.

She took it outside to the darkened yard. The fort was regularly torn apart and rebuilt for different war game scenarios, but it usually took the form of a classical Roman fort, with some small barracks, an armory, and a forge. She ventured over to the parade grounds, reminiscing about years spent drilling and fighting within similar walls. She’d always preferred defending it to attacking. It felt like fighting for one’s home, rather than trying to take someone else’s.

She set her spear down to pull herself out of the sweltering Praetor toga. It came off a lot easier than it went on, thankfully. She dropped it onto the dirt without care, leaving her in a plain tank top and shorts. Her scarred left arm tingled in the open air. Gods, that breeze felt good. Whoever designed that outfit had obviously never worn it for an entire Californian summer day.

She picked up her spear and held it loosely for a moment. Such a fine tool, chosen by her eight years ago when she’d first been allowed a real weapon. She’d started to outgrow it by the time she received her first officer promotion, but had put off choosing a different one. She’d won that promotion with this spear, after all. Won war games. Won duels. Won the Praetorship, along with her scars. To most others that would be a bittersweet memory.

Victoria could only taste the bitter.

It wasn’t enough to make her give up the spear, _her_ spear. Without thinking about it, she snapped into a parade position, slamming the butt of the spear into the earth. Loose dirt sprayed across her feet through her sandals. She started to count.

Her worries melted as she travelled back to another place. Listening to Reyna barking orders. Correcting forms. Shouting encouragement at new legionnaires. Further forward, Frank calling out honors. Standing with weapon in hand in a new officer’s toga, beaming with pride.

Even further. Two lines of spearmen, clad in black, saluting shrouds as they were carried by. Glances at the new, shining eagle pin on her shoulder. She’d been forced to wear that, though they hadn’t stopped her from participating.

Further. Alone in the fort she’d grown up in, the spear she’d grown up with at her side. Her symbol of duty a crumpled heap in the dirt. The weight of two worlds on her shoulders.

When her count reached ten, Victoria started to dance.

Her mind went blank, instinct taking over as it moved her through the motions of the kata. Though it had been many months since she’d practiced regularly, her muscles knew what to do. Her spear spun through her hands and fingers, across her shoulders and neck, through thrusts and swings. She closed her eyes and let it soothe her, frustration rolling away before the sweet aches of a furious exercise.

Others told Victoria she wasted her time training so hard. All demigods learned to fight, but children of Venus just weren’t meant to be career warriors. Learn a proper craft, they told her. Leave the frontlines to those who were made for it. She’d resented how naturally it seemed to come to children of Mars and Bellona. It had taken her years to reach levels they reached in months. Even at her prime, she’d still lagged behind them. They’d pointed to that as proof of what they said. Training just couldn’t beat divine blood.

She’d carried on anyway. Partly out of spite for them, partly out of pride in what she _had_ accomplished. It seemed far better to arrive at her skill by hard work than to be handed it by the genetic lottery. And it had paid off, making her the best fighter in the Legion that wasn’t the child of a war god. Even her detractors had had to acknowledge that.

She spun quicker, exhilarated as she danced with the breeze. This was right. A spear in her hand instead of a pen. A monster to fight instead of a politician. A battle to win instead of a negotiation. Her body and mind melding in perfect harmony. Her spear becoming an extension of her will. This was what Victoria Falken had been born to do.

Fate had other plans.

She spun into the kata’s final forms too quick, stretched too far. It hit her in an instant.

_Pain._

Her spear landed next to her. Her left side burned as though enveloped in flames. She rolled in the dirt to put it out, clawed at her skin to tear it off. Grabbed out for a sword, a knife, _anything_ to cut it away from her. Was that screaming hers? She smelled burning flesh, _by the gods she smelled it!_

Other screams, ones she knew all too well. Roaring. Distant shouts. Rushing flames. Dying, dying, _dying…_

When it finally stopped, Victoria returned to find herself curled up on the ground. Tears fell into the dirt. Every part of her _ached,_ her left side most of all. She pushed herself to her knees with the care of an arthritic old woman. She closed her eyes and choked back a sob.

It had been long enough that she’d thought maybe, _just maybe,_ she might have healed. But every time she’d physically pushed herself in the last two years, without fail, she wound up thrashing on the ground. Were the Apollo physicians in New Rome right? Would she truly be at risk of those attacks for the rest of her life?

She grabbed her spear with a trembling hand and used it to steady herself. How she yearned for the days when it was all she’d needed to support her. Even with its help, the long rise to her feet was difficult. At least James wasn’t around to lament how she’d lost her bite. She’d been tempted to actually bite him last time he’d said that.

 _Eighteen years old,_ she thought bitterly, _and already useless in a fight..._

 _No._ She found a spark of determination deep, _deep_ within herself and brought it forth. She just needed more time. If not, then she would find some way to fix it. In a world of gods and magic, there were bound to be unconventional methods that could help her.

The alternative was admitting that she’d never have a place on a battlefield again.

Victoria used the spear to limp back to the armory and store it where she’d found it. She emerged with slow, careful steps. Bending down to pick up her discarded toga was difficult, and putting it back on was out of the question. She tucked it under her left arm, using the fabric to cushion her aching side.

She made for the front gate, trying not to brood on her condition. Thinking about it would do her no good. She felt so exhausted, both in body and mind. Better to leave her worries for tomorrow. She actually found herself daydreaming about her bed in the Principia. It wasn’t even that comfy, but in her state—

Victoria froze just inside the gate.

_What was that?_

She peered through the gate, out into the cratered and trenched expanse of the Fields of Mars. There was no moon tonight, and the last rays of sun had faded, so the vast plain was almost completely black. Yet for the briefest of moments, she could’ve sworn she’d seen _something_ out there…

She shook her head, cursing under her breath. She was overworked, sleep deprived, somewhat delirious from her seizure. Besides, what could be out there anyway? Camp Jupiter didn’t stock any monsters, unlike the woods of Camp Half-Blood, and only half-bloods could get past the magic boundary around the valley. No nightly patrols came in this direction either.

And yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling…

 _Probably nothing,_ she thought, though she couldn’t get herself to believe it. _If only I could be so lucky…_

* * *

 

As with the camp, Hunter found the Dragonslayer disappointing.

He watched her from the shadow of a crater as she crossed the plain. She alternated between watching her step to avoid tripping on the uneven ground, and having her head on swivel, scanning the landscape with sharp eyes. She’d definitely caught a glimpse of him, but hadn’t made him out clearly. She’d eventually write it off as paranoia, or a byproduct of her apparent condition.

Victoria Falken, reputed demigod commander and thorn in his queen’s side, was a cripple.

Hunter hadn’t known to expect that. He’d only been spotted because he’d chanced investigating the screams coming from the fort. It was his business to learn the names of any who’d try to assassinate a Praetor, after all. But the only assassin was her own body. She still bore signs of it now, her posture slumped and her movements careful.

It puzzled him. Why would the demigods name a cripple to the Praetorship? Why place faith in a leader who couldn’t fight? And a child of _Venus_ of all people?

Hunter shook it off and refocused. Eyes on his task, not the horizon. He scanned the colorful buildings with a sharp eye, reaffirming what he’d seen atop the ridge.

_Guards at each barrack. Patrols around the parade grounds. A few lingering in the Mess Hall. The Principia…_

The squat building stood apart from the others, capped by a purple dome. Two more demigods stood guard outside the front door. So far as he’d seen, that was the only way in or out. He could make his own entrance, but he’d risk damaging his prize.

He felt at the knife hidden up his sleeve. What would the Hermes brat do?

_Cause some chaos. Make a diversion._

Hunter’s eyes slid to the other side of the camp, to the hill covered in temples and shrines. At its very top, the temple of Jupiter.

Beneath his cowl, a corner of Hunter’s lip curled upward. Yes, he could cause some chaos. Might even get a stronger reaction than they needed. More fuel for the pyre.

He glanced at Victoria, just outside the Principia. She cast another quick look back at the plains. He waited until she turned away, then jumped out of his crater and sprinted towards the temple hill, leaping pits and trenches along the way.

When he reached the bottom of the hill, he started tapping Strength.

* * *

 

The Praetorian Guards outside the Principia saluted Victoria as she drew near. They were both boys around her age, sons of Mars and Vulcan respectively. Their distinctive armor was kept clean and ordered, and their postures were crisp and professional. She had never gotten to do duty as a Praetorian Guard herself, though she’d aspired to it. She gave them the best salute she could manage, still somewhat sore. Though both glanced at the ruffled toga she held under her scarred arm, neither made a comment on it.

“Praetor,” the son of Mars on the right said, snapping out of his salute. “How went your meetings?”

Victoria sighed. “As well as can be expected, I suppose. Thank you for asking, Caleb.”

He nodded. The stocky boy was from the First Cohort, and though his Senators tended to oppose Victoria, he was loyal to her. The son of Vulcan on the left, Juan, was more on James’ side of the fence, though he still treated her with the respect she was due, unlike James himself.

Caleb’s face grew concerned. “Are you alright, Praetor? You seem…”

“I’m fine, just…” She looked over her shoulder again, out at the inky blackness beyond the camp’s light that hid the Fields of Mars. She’d seen nothing past that glimpse at the fort entrance, and yet… She turned back to the guards. “Stay alert tonight, if you would.”

Juan raised an eyebrow. “You think we wouldn’t have?”

“No, I…” she said, cursing herself. Saying _stay alert_ to a Praetorian Guard was like telling water to be wet. Though they rarely got to see action on guard duty, the assignment was a mark of pride, as only the most elite legionnaires could attain it. Even on the boring night shift, the lofty station tended to make them take their roles seriously.

Caleb frowned. “Something specific you want us to watch out for?”

“I don’t know,” Victoria said. “I just… have a bad feeling.”

They exchanged looks.

“You’ve been under a lot of stress lately, Praetor,” Juan said in a respectful tone, though there was some disdain in his eyes. “And you’re probably anxious about the Assembly tomorrow.”

“Maybe you ought to visit one of the shrines before you turn in for the night,” Caleb suggested. “It calms me being in my dad’s temple, believe or not.”

Victoria snorted. Being calmed in a war god’s temple, that was something. She turned to look at Temple Hill, across the camp from the Principia. Her mother’s temple stood near the top, the carved dove above the entrance spreading its wings invitingly. She hadn’t been there in so long. Perhaps…

No. Someone like her didn’t belong there. It would be an insult.

Her eyes drifted to the Temple of Jupiter, his gold statue clearly visible even from here. Her time spent there hadn’t granted her leadership ability, but it _did_ calm her on occasion. The aches from her seizure had faded enough that she could walk normally again. Maybe it would be a good idea, just for a few—

A thunderous _boom_ echoed through the valley, coming from Temple Hill.

One of the marble columns behind Jupiter’s statue shattered.

Victoria cried out in alarm. The Praetorian Guards swore and sprung forward, intense gazes on the temple. Across the camp, other guards were rushing out from their stations for a clear view.

A second _boom._ A second column burst into fragments of stone, showering Jupiter’s statue in rubble.

Victoria and others were already in motion, running towards the Hill. The camp was a mass of commotion as guards called the alarm. Her heart thundered in her chest, her aches completely forgotten and her toga tossed aside.

A third column exploded. With half its supports gone, the heavy dome ceiling took its toll. Webs of cracks spread up the other pillars. The people running towards the Hill slowed, faces aghast as they watched.

The remaining columns finally gave way. The entire temple collapsed, the dome crashing down on the statue and knocking it off its pedestal.

Cries of grief and outrage echoed through the valley. Everyone sprinted at full bore towards Temple Hill, the top of which was now shrouded in a cloud of dust. Adrenaline kept Victoria going for a time, but the distance was enough to make her aches return. Her Praetorian Guards raced ahead of her, their spears poised for battle.

She had to slow down to a jog, though she didn’t take her eyes off the cloud of dust. Jupiter’s grand temple, a symbol of the camp, _gone_ just like that… She’d _known_ something was off! She _had_ seen something out in the Fields! But what? Or who? And why attack the temples?

It seemed callous of her to already be analyzing motive when the incident was seconds old. Perhaps she ought to be angry or distraught like the others. But that was how her mind worked. Find the logic behind it so she didn’t have to process the emotion. Look for a reason, something to channel her energy towards and keep her distracted.

The temples were obviously sacred to the Legion, Jupiter’s most of all. But they served no real strategic value. If the intent was to hurt the Legion’s morale, it was misguided; it would likely earn their thirst for vengeance instead. Why choose to attack the temples rather than something that could seriously hurt them, like one of the barracks or armories?

Unless… It wasn’t the main goal. Seized by that instinct, Victoria stopped and spun around, back toward the Principia.

Just in time to see a hooded figure in black slip through the front door.

She glanced backward for help, but everyone else was already at the base of Temple Hill, out of earshot. She cursed and started running back in that direction as fast as she could go, smothering her fatigue with equal parts panic, anger, and determination. The distance seemed so much farther going back, and her side throbbed in protest, but she did not allow herself to rest.

No, attacking the temples wouldn’t hurt the camp strategically or in terms of morale. But there _was_ one thing that could do both. It had been lost before, decades ago, and the Legion had been a shadow of its former self. Their most prized treasure. The Praetors’ sacred charge.

And it rested in the now unguarded Principia.

* * *

 

Hunter ran through lavishly decorated halls, breathing hard through his cowl. Though he’d returned to full Endurance, it didn’t replenish spent stamina. Taking down the temple had exerted him greatly.

Discipline kept him moving. Now was the moment. No time for rest.

He slammed against a pair of double doors, throwing them open. He barrelled into a large circular room that appeared to be a chapel at first glance. Rows of benches sat arranged in a semicircle atop a tiled floor. Windows in the domed ceiling would allow sunlight in during the day. Paintings of the gods lined the outer walls.

At the far end of the room, where all the benches were pointing, was a pedestal for a standard. Instead of a flag, it was capped by a large eagle statue, cast from what appeared to be solid gold.

Hunter’s target.

On either side of the eagle stood two demigods holding spears, wearing the purple-accented armor of the Praetorian Guard. They started as he entered. Hunter’s stride faltered, and he cursed. The temple collapsing had to have been heard across the valley! Why were these two still here?

They scrambled in front of the eagle, raising their spears defensively. When their stances were set, they each reached up to their ears and yanked out headphones.

By the throne. They couldn’t even get guard duty right.

Hunter sprinted directly at them. Taken aback, they reaffirmed their stances and called for him to halt. He resisted the instinct to draw knives and engage them directly. A Hermes boy wouldn’t do that.

Instead he pulled a palm sized orb etched with runes from the pouch at his waist. The guards came at him as he neared, spears thrusting for his torso. Hunter dropped, landing on his knees and sliding across the tile beneath their attacks. As he passed between them, he sucked in a breath and slammed the orb to the floor.

A cloud of thick gas erupted from his hand. The guards burst into fits of violent coughing. Seeing a good opportunity, Hunter grabbed his left sleeve and yanked it hard. The thin necklace inside snapped, and a number of beads spilled onto the tile.

Hunter hopped back to his feet and kept running forward, holding his breath until he was free of the gas. The thick gray cloud filled half the room, shadows shifting in it as the guards flailed. A few seconds later, two muffled thumps sounded as they fell, unconscious.

He stepped up to the eagle standard’s pedestal. The statue’s eyes glowed red, seeming to burn into him as though angry. The very air around it seemed to hum and crackle with power, and he felt the hair on his neck stand on end. The queen was probably right that he wouldn’t be able to touch it.

Luckily, he didn’t have to. He pulled out the last of the items in his pouch, another sphere the size of his enclosed fist. This one was black and bore a different set of runes, inscribed in sharp lines of glowing red. This one didn’t exactly fit the role he was supposed to play, but he had little choice. He muttered a single word to it, ancient and filled with power, then pressed it against the eagle’s beak.

* * *

 

Victoria entered the Principia just as the screeching started.

It was a horrid sound, metallic screaming compounded by a high pitched ringing. It forced her hands to her ears, worse than a hundred sets of fingernails on a hundred chalkboards. Her body ached in protest, her breath labored and her side starting to send stabbing pains with every beat of her heart. Much more exertion and she’d probably trigger another seizure.

She redoubled her sprint through the Principia’s halls. They could _not_ lose the Eagle, not now, _especially_ not now…

The screeching had stopped by the time she arrived at the central chapel. Two groaning Praetorian Guards lay on the carpet amidst a dissipating cloud of smoke. The Eagle’s stand was empty.

 _“Damn it!”_ Victoria cursed in Latin, _“No no no…”_

Think. Don’t panic. Don’t despair. _Think._

There was only one way out of this building, and only two halls leading to it from here. There was no way the thief could have slipped by her in the first hall, so he had to be taking the other one. Victoria dashed for it. Weak as she was, she had to try to catch him. There’d be no else to stop him. Fate, it seemed, had a way of leaving the most important tasks to her.

She rounded the corner of a long hallway lined by purple carpet. Decorative spears and swords hung on the walls on either side of her. Further down, there were portraits of past Praetors.

Sprinting down the hall was a tall figure clad in black. He had a lean but well-toned frame that might be expected of a long-distance runner. He carried no visible weapons, nor any kind of storage save for a cloth pouch at his waist, far too small for the Eagle to fit inside. With how large the Eagle was, it should’ve been obvious where he was keeping it, but his hands were empty and there were no obvious lumps in his clothing.

Victoria didn’t have time to process that. _“You! Stop!”_ she shouted, knowing it would do no good. The thief slowed just enough to look back at her, but didn’t stop. She wouldn’t catch up to him in her state.

Desperate, she grabbed at one of the decorative spears on the wall to her right. It was too short to use for proper spear fighting, but just right for what she needed. She grasped it in her upraised hand, thumb pointing toward the butt of the weapon. She drew her arm back and threw the spear with all her remaining might.

It sailed true down the length of the hall. It seemed to take the thief aback as it came for him.

Then he spun into a crouch, reaching up as he did, and _snatched it out of the air by the shaft._

Victoria’s breath caught in her throat.

The spear spun in deft fingers as the thief’s feet skidded to a halt. In an instant he rose back to full height, drew back with perfect form, and launched the weapon back at Victoria.

It struck her in the sternum.

It was decorative, and so only had a blunt spearhead. Even so, it took the wind out of her and knocked her off her feet, slamming her to the floor some feet back. Victoria choked, gasping for air she couldn’t seem to get. Her alarm at what had just happened was dull and cloudy, overshadowed by the pain. She felt dizzy. She’d been winded already, and now...

Somehow, by some herculean force she couldn’t understand, Victoria managed to sit up, if only a little. Her vision swam, nausea rising as she tried to make sense of the swirling patterns and colors. The pain dulled a bit, lethargy taking its place. It tried to drag her back down to the floor. She couldn’t let it, she had to do something, had to stop him…

The thief was a blob of black at the edge of the hall. She craned her neck to look directly at him. For the briefest of moments, the blurred patterns crystalized, and she saw him clearly.

He was still in throwing position, right leg forward, hand extended. With his hood up and cowl covering most of his face, the only part of him visible was his eyes. They met Victoria’s.

Dark gray, the color of unyielding stone. Cold. Hard. Almost hateful.

_Dangerous._

The thief spun back around and sprinted away. Victoria tried to call after him, but she still couldn’t catch her breath. Her world blurred again as he rounded the corner and passed out of sight. Fatigue overwhelming her, she slumped to the carpet and let the darkness consume her.

* * *

 

Some time later, Hunter paused atop a ridge overlooking the valley, different than the one he’d started on. This vantage point was closer to the camp proper than the previous one, so he had a clear view of the chaos unfolding there.

Demigods swarmed the temple hill like agitated ants, many streaming into the fading dust cloud at its top where Jupiter’s temple lie in ruins. More and more were running towards the Principia as they realized what had happened. Over a dozen armored guardsmen were still prowling the hills to the east where Hunter had lost them.

He allowed himself a low chuckle, pulling his cowl off his face. He’d succeeded, and even managed to get an extra blow in with the destruction of the temple. With the “evidence” he’d left behind, they’d be none the wiser.

Though… the encounter with the Dragonslayer nagged at him. In catching and throwing back that spear, she’d seen him do something no child of Hermes should be able to do. He’d done it by reflex, without thinking about it. That could mean trouble.

He shook his head, casting his worries aside. Even if she realized what it meant, Victoria Falken was barely clinging to power. And after this fiasco, the Romans would be too lost in righteous fury to listen.

With a small smirk and one hand on the orb in his pouch, Hunter hopped off the ridge and jogged away from the camp to where his pegasus waited. He’d fly east for a while in case anyone saw him, then double back around. His queen would be waiting for his report and prize. Then, they just had to watch.

The camps were dry tinder. Hunter had provided the spark. Now all they could do was burn.

* * *

 

 _“...oria!”_ A distant, hazy voice called out to her. _“Victoria! Can you hear me?”_

Her return to consciousness was slow, like rising from the depths of a murky lake. Aches in her side and chest throbbed stronger with each passing second. Her head pounded like the frantic beat of an Amazonian drum. Nearby voices and frantic footsteps made it worse. She groaned, forcing her eyes open.

Dear gods, did they have to make their lanterns so bright?

“Victoria!” a familiar voice above her said. “Here, drink this, careful now…”

Cool metal was pressed to her lips. She drank without complaint, savoring the warmth the nectar brought her. The taste of chocolate ice cream cake, a delicacy she only rarely allowed herself, chased away some of the pains and nausea. When she’d finished drinking, she could finally see clearly again.

She was still laying on the carpet in the Principia hallway where she’d encountered the thief. It much brighter and busier now, buzzing with low and concerned conversation. She ignored all of that, focusing on the face directly above her, looking down at her with concerned eyes behind glasses.

“W… Will?” she groaned, her throat raw.

“Thank gods you’re okay,” he said. “I thought— When they said someone broke into the Principia—” He seemed to be having a hard time finding his words, choking on a few of them. Odd. He was normally well-spoken under pressure.

A few others stood in a loose circle around her. Some of them faced her, wearing looks of either concern or contempt. Others had their backs to her, spears or swords held at the ready, watching for other intruders. All had armor with the purple accents of the Praetorian Guard. When they saw she was awake, a couple stepped forward and knelt beside Will.

“Praetor,” Caleb said, trying not to seem overly concerned. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she mumbled, feeling anything but.

The Guard beside him, a daughter of Apollo named Mikka, produced another canteen of nectar. “Drink this, Praetor. Tell me where you’ve been injured.”

“I’m _fine,”_ Victoria insisted, though she accepted the canteen. “Just bruised and exhausted. It will pass.”

Caleb bit his lip. “We should have realized the hit on the temple was a diversion. We shouldn’t have left you.”

“And you shouldn’t have gone without us,” Juan’s voice said from somewhere above.

“You outran me,” Victoria said, wiping nectar from her lips. “I couldn’t wait for you without letting him escape.”

“Yeah, and a lotta good that did,” Juan muttered darkly. Victoria grit her teeth but said nothing. Will tried to give her a comforting squeeze on her good shoulder, but she brushed his hand away. Juan was right. She’d failed. If she hadn’t strained herself practicing in the fort...

She handed the canteen back to Mikka and struggled to push herself up. Several hands stopped her.

“Praetor,” Will said, his voice still uncertain, “you really need to rest—”

“My camp has just been attacked and robbed, Will,” she growled, glaring at the floor. “I will _not_ rest now. If you want me not to hurt myself, I suggest you help me up.”

Will and Caleb reluctantly did as ordered. She swayed on her feet, but Will held her steady. She fought back the aches and nausea, putting on a strong face for her guards. Though they held themselves firm, she could see the uncertainty and fear in their eyes. They needed someone to look to in times like these. Weak as she was, she couldn’t give them much, but it was better than nothing.

They started slowly towards the front door, guards occasionally handing Victoria more nectar. She took as much as she thought was safe, until her skin started to feel hot. Too much of the godly drink would make a half-blood literally burn up. At that point, she was able to walk without support, though she still took it slow.

“Report,” she said stiffly.

Will licked his lips. “Some guards saw the thief slip out of the Principia and chased him east into the hills. They’re still after him, we haven’t heard anything yet. The rest of the camp is on lockdown.”

“The Eagle?” Victoria asked softly. “He wasn’t carrying it when I chased him.”

“...We know it’s gone. He has to have it.”

The faces of her guards noticeably darkened at that. Victoria closed her eyes, fighting down a wave of shame. They’d lost their Eagle — _she_ had lost their Eagle — yet again. It was far more to the Legion than just a simple standard, or even a source of power. It was the symbol of their pride, valor, and hopes. Losing it in times past had led to some of the Legion’s darkest days. Once word got out…

Victoria stifled tears. _Don’t feel. Think. Act._

“We need to start an investigation immediately,” Victoria said, sounding a lot calmer than she felt. “We’ll find out who did this and see them punished _severely_ for it. Where is James?”

“At the staging grounds, Praetor,” one of her guards said. “He’s overseeing the lockdown and the pursuit.”

“Take me to him,” she said. Much as she despised the man, this was something they _had_ to work together on. One of the sacred duties of a Praetor was the protection of the Legion’s Eagle. They had a common interest in seeing it returned.

The camp was in turmoil when they emerged from the Principia. Crowds of campers in either armor or pajamas darted about, spreading rumors and trading stories. Civilians from New Rome were making their way across the Little Tiber to the camp, putting hands to lips and holding children close. Many of them faced the rubble of Jupiter’s temple with a burning anger in their eyes. The tension and fear in the air was so thick you could almost see it hanging there, pulled tight, ready to snap.

 _This could turn very bad very quickly,_ Victoria thought as her entourage approached the staging grounds.

James was there, arguing with one of his advisors, occasionally shouting orders at passing legionnaires. Victoria had rarely seen him so unkempt. He was usually the pristine image of a Praetor. Seeing him with his hair wild, eyes weighed down by dark shadows, and dressed in ragged jeans and a t-shirt was jarring. Any other time, she might have found the sight amusing. Now, however, was one of the rare times she empathized with him.

James noticed her approaching and turned to her. His expression was dark, but he didn’t greet her with his usual crassness or veiled insults.

“You confronted the thief, I hear?” he said in a hoarse voice, no hint of malice or sarcasm to be heard.

“Yes,” Victoria said back, meeting his eyes. “He surprised me and got away.”

James’ frown deepened. Normally he’d make a remark about her losing her edge, or failing the camp. It would have been called for in this case. Instead, he looked to her guards. “You three, go join the crew up at the temple looking for evidence. You two, back to the Principia chapel.”

They nodded and ran off to do as ordered. James glanced pointedly at Will, who stood firm by Victoria’s side. She looked to him. “Leave us, Will. Please.”

He backed out of earshot reluctantly, though he stayed close, another canteen of nectar held ready near his hip. Victoria stepped closer to James. “Have you found anything yet? On who the culprit was?”

“No. We’ve found powder on some of the temple rubble. Explosives by the look of it, but nothing identifying. Couldn’t tell anything by the look at him I got. Some men chased him into the eastern hills. They’re still out there now, but… I don’t have high hopes.” James looked at her. “Did you see anything? When you… confronted him?”

Victoria shivered, the huge welt on her chest throbbing. “Not much, but… He _caught_ a spear I threw at him, then threw it back at me. Whoever it was, he was obviously highly trained.”

James looked off to the eastern hills. “To infiltrate a fortified camp and cause so much chaos without being caught… I think you’re right.”

That made Victoria breathe a bit easier. If she could only pick one thing to see eye-to-eye on with him, it would be this. “You’ve clearly started an investigation already.”

“Yeah. Highly trained or not, he left part of a trail with the powder. With any luck he’ll have left us some others.”

“And in the meantime? What do we tell the camp?”

James sighed, turning back to her. Still his eyes held no mocking contempt. Instead, they were weary, and worried. He waved a hand out to the milling crowds. “Word’s already spreading. All we can do at this point is minimize the damage to morale. I’ll handle the public if you take over the investigation.”

Victoria nodded. Those roles fit their strong suits perfectly. It was a mark of how seriously he was taking this that he gave it to Victoria without a fight, knowing how important it was. “Have your scribe give Will the list of captains you assigned to it already. We’ll organize what we can immediately.”

“Right. In the meantime—”

He cut off suddenly, frowning at something in the distance. Victoria turned to look. Two armored legionnaires were running in their direction, one from the Principia, and the other from the eastern hills. They slowed as they approached the two Praetors. The one from the Principia — Laura, Victoria thought her name was — panted and gave a sloppily salute. The other — Craig — was so winded that he didn’t even try to salute, doubled over and heaving towards the ground. Running that far in armor took its toll.

“You have something to report?” James asked Laura, giving Craig time to breathe. She nodded, still catching her breath.

“We found some evidence… In the Principia chapel. The guards there… the thief used knockout gas. And he dropped...” she trailed off.

“Well,” Victoria frowned. “What is it?”

Laura grimaced, swallowing hard. She looked Victoria in the eyes, seeming almost apologetic. Then, she reached into a pouch at her waist and pulled out what was inside. She hesitated, then opened her palm for them to see.

It was a small collection of what looked like plastic beads. Victoria counted seven of them. Each was painted with a distinctive pattern. One had a design of a mermaid rising from the ocean toward a rowboat. Another had a puzzling picture of a flaming shark being launched out of a catapult.

It took her several moments to realize what they were. Beads from a necklace, like the ones people at Camp Half-Blood wore.

Craig recovered enough to stand up straight. He gave James a half-salute. “We… We lost him, sir,” he panted. “I’m sorry… He’s gone. Saw a pegasus flying east... But… one of our guys scuffled with him… He dropped this…”

Craig held up a shimmering knife with a blade of Celestial Bronze. The prefered metal of the Greeks.

Victoria’s heart dropped. _Oh no…_

With a light touch, James took the knife and held it up. The polished blade reflected his hardened expression, the cold anger that burned in his eyes. His grip on the handle tightened, his other hand clenching into a fist by his side. Several others watching had the same reaction, and murmurs began to spread. She knew before James spoke what his next words would be.

“Call the Assembly,” he called to his attendants and guards without looking away from the knife, his voice trembling with barely contained outrage. “And bring the Legion to full combat alert. For a crime like this, there’s going to be hell to pay.”


	17. Boiling Point

_Forgive me for being presumptuous about your health in my words. If you have in fact met a grisly fate, your hateful spirit may still find value in what I have to say._

* * *

 

Something felt horribly wrong to Percy even before the news came.

He’d been training on dummies in the arena into the early hours of the morning, unable to sleep and far too restless to visit the beach. He fought furiously against straw enemies with his sword, trying to exhaust himself.

It didn’t work. These days, nothing he did seemed to.

The dark camp was unnaturally still when he left the arena. Not a single thing stirred or made a sound, not even the forest. He didn’t have to be near the ocean to feel the tension. A cold sense of dread crawled up his back, like he was about to be dragged into a nearby bush by some unspeakable horror.

What flimsy reassurances he gave himself failed when he saw Chiron coming down Half-Blood Hill at a full gallop.

 _“Percy!”_ Chiron shouted, his voice containing a panicked edge Percy had never heard from him before. He skidded to a hasty stop next to Percy, hooves kicking up grass and dirt.

“What happened?” Percy asked, afraid he might already know.

Chiron said nothing. He stood there, panting from his run, and looked Percy in the eye. Percy saw the answer there. His heart dropped into his stomach.

“Why?” Percy whispered.

Chiron’s explanation was brief, with clipped words and barely concealed bewilderment. Percy said nothing, clenching his jaw. It didn’t make sense. None of it added up. And yet, Percy knew that it wouldn’t matter.

“Wake the Head Counselors,” Chiron said haggardly. “Get them to the Big House, _now.”_

The centaur turned and galloped away, heading toward the forest. Percy only stood there a moment longer before taking off in a sprint of his own towards the cabins.

He barely noticed his aches anymore. Dread had eclipsed them now, rising to a height he hadn’t known in almost two decades. Like what he’d felt before the Battle of Manhattan. Before the Battle of Athens.

The dread of knowing your whole world was about to shatter.

* * *

 

Cael was having trouble sleeping, and for once, it had nothing to do with something stupid he’d done.

He lied on his back, hands clasped beneath his head, staring at Emile’s bunk above him. He breathed slowly, hoping drowsiness would overcome him soon. No matter how he tried, no matter the sheep he counted or the position he took, his mind wouldn’t rest.

It wasn’t even related to the gate this time. That had been mostly quiet since coming to camp. What was it then? Was it about Scott, the brother he might never meet? Or something else? This anxious pit in his gut… as though he were standing on the lip of cliff too high to see the ground below.

He’d had similar feelings before monster attacks. Before meeting Lucy. Before…

…

The front door suddenly slammed open, making him jump in alarm. The lights came on a moment later, blinding him. He bolted upright, nearly slamming his head against Emile’s bunk as he cursed.

Other cursed with him, sitting up slowly and rubbing bleary eyes. The clock on the wall showed two in the morning. Gods above, who just barged in like that at this hour? He shuffled to the foot of his bed, ready to curse out the figure walking loudly across the room.

When he saw the expression on Percy’s face, the words died in his throat.

“Chet,” Percy said when he reached the bed at the end of room, his voice as stiff as his body. “Council meeting. Now.”

Chet, who had just managed to sit up in bed, blinked at Percy, still coming to his senses. “Wh… what? This early? Is this about Scott?”

“I don’t know!” Percy snapped. “Just get up there, _now!_ The rest of you, get back to sleep!” Chet gave a shaky nod and rushed with Percy out of the cabin, slamming the door closed behind them.

They hadn’t turned the lights off, but nobody moved toward the switch. Instead, the whole room burst into a buzz of rapid conversation, all drowsiness now forgotten. They gathered around certain bunks to gossip. Summer campers started to peak their heads in from the stairs leading down to the lower levels, curious at the noise. A couple people snuck out the front door after Percy and Chet, promising to bring answers back.

“What’s going on?”

“Gotta be something bad—”

“Do you think Scott’s been—”

“Maybe it’s the witch again—”

“Something with Lucy—”

In the bunks to the left of Cael’s, Jasper and Natalie turned toward him, rubbing their eyes and stretching. “What could possibly need Council attention at two in the morning?” Natalie wondered from the top bed.

“Gods,” Emile muttered somewhere above Cael. “What could get _Percy_ worried like that?”

“Titans,” Jasper said, stifling a yawn. “Or Giants?”

The answer seemed obvious to Cael. Reading situations was a lot like reading people. And for once in his life, he desperately hoped his reading was wrong.

“That,” he said softly, “or our pranks are gonna have to get a lot bloodier soon.”

It took less than a quarter-hour for his fears to be confirmed, when one of the scouts came back breathless, bearing news of the stolen eagle. And more importantly, the Roman accusations.

The mobs started forming minutes later.

* * *

 

Bright lights filled Kat’s _other_ sense. She perceived them through her cabin’s thick stone walls without thinking about it, in the same way she would hear a loud noise or see a bright flash without thinking about it. Normally, the extra input was easily ignored.

Tonight, not even projects would let her ignore it.

She’d been sitting at a bench for most of the last three hours, working at the contours of an unrefined blade with ever finer files. She felt just a bit guilty about it, as Lucy had been encouraging her to go to bed at reasonable hours. But this part of the process was relatively quiet, and she was so close to done…

But the lights of nearby demigod auras were too active. Too many of them zipped back and forth across the lawns in the center of the cabin groups. She’d grown accustomed enough to that during the day to tune it out, but at this hour? She gave an exasperated sigh, setting her tools down and stalking toward the window. “What in the Mist’s name is going on out there?”

She hadn’t even made it halfway across the room before noticing the aura rapidly approaching her cabin. Recognizing it, she waved a hand to unlock the door.

It flung open to the sight of Percy’s haggard face, and the sounds of a camp in chaos.

“We need you…” Percy panted, sounding as though he’d just sprinted several miles. “Up at the Big House…”

Kat tried to peak past him at the frantic dots of light and masses of shadow shouting and screaming behind him. “What’s happening?” she asked, suddenly anxious. For a brief moment, she was terrified that a mob was coming for her _._

“Council meeting... _All_ the Counselors. That means you too.”

As the only member of Cabin Twenty, Kat was automatically its Head Counselor. That meant she had a seat and a vote on Council matters, though she never bothered to attend these days. Her say on anything would be ignored, or flat out rejected simply because she’d sided with it. Attendance was usually required, but nobody on the camp staff enforced it with her. If it was important enough they’d ask her to attend now...

And suddenly, she understood completely what was happening. What the mob meant. What the haunted look in Percy’s eyes meant.

The cauldron, it seemed, was finally at the boiling point.

“I’ll be there immediately,” she said, unable to keep her voice from shaking.

Percy didn’t wait for her, sprinting off into the chaotic night without another word. Kat hurried over to her bench and threw a white sheet over her project. Then she ran after Percy, waving a frantic hand to slam the door shut behind her. She took a long and winding path to the Big House, going far around groups of agitated campers that might decide to take an opportunity if they saw her alone.

At the bottom of Half-Blood Hill, it occurred to her that there wouldn’t be more peaceful project nights for a long, _long_ time.

* * *

 

Lucy’s dreams weren’t normally this vivid.

She felt fully conscious as she walked across vibrant green grass, feeling a cool breeze blow hair into her eyes. She brushed it aside, frowning as she looked around. She’d heard of lucid dreams before, though she’d never experienced one. Were they supposed to seem so _real?_ For a long few moments she questioned whether she was even dreaming at all.

But she recognized this place. A small single-story house, painted white, with its fenced-in backyard beneath the shade of a towering oak. Racks of equipment — some shimmering, some not — against the wall under the eaves of the porch. A makeshift obstacle course built around the tree, like a miniature version of the course in Camp Half-Blood’s arena.

And she recognized the two people there with her. One, a towering, scowling blonde woman dressed in workout clothes. The other, a blonde girl of seven, huffing and puffing as she ran through the obstacle course.

 _Mother,_ Lucy thought reverently, looking at the blonde woman. _And… me._

Little Lucy’s pace was sluggish. Beads of sweat soaked her shirt and hair. She tripped over a tire that was part of the course and fell to the grass. She rolled over, gasping, arms and legs trembling, and didn’t try to get back up.

There was no scar on her cheek yet. Gods… had she really looked so _innocent_ back then?

Mother opened her mouth to speak, and Lucy instinctively braced for the reprimand. Before it came, a distant but loud _slam_ startled her. The scene shattered, the fragments twisting into oblivion before her eyes. She felt a _lurch_ in her gut, as though she was falling some great distance through a dark void.

She sucked in air as her eyes snapped open.

She sat up quickly, heart racing. The basement of Cabin Twenty was dark, almost pitch black save for the soft glow of the alarm clock Kat had given her. She threw covers off herself and jumped to her feet, fighting back a sudden wave of nausea. She clung to the nightstand for support, trying to stop the world from spinning.

Gods, why did she feel like she’d sprinted half a mile?

 _Something loud woke me,_ she thought, looking to the stairs. Light was peaking in under the door at the top. Was Kat up late with her projects again? And here Lucy thought she’d gotten Kat to start sleeping normally.

But… this cold feeling…

She reached under her pillow, fingers closing around the handle of her knife. She slipped it in the waistband of her pants, though kept hold of it. When she got to the main floor, she found it fully lit, but the bed and all the workstations were empty.

“Kat?” Lucy called. There was nowhere for her to be hiding in here. Had she left the cabin? She rarely did that if she didn’t have to, and at this hour…

Tense, Lucy crossed the cluttered cabin to the front door. A wall of sound hit her as she opened it, previously held back by Cabin Twenty’s soundproofing spells. Yelling, shouting, even some _chanting._ She froze on the threshold.

Mobs of campers swarmed around the cabins, though the largest gathered up at the Big House. Some held torches, some held bronze weapons that glowed softly in the night, and some merely held upraised fists. Their calls and chants overlapped one another in ways that made them difficult to pick out, and they were mostly in Ancient Greek, which Lucy still had a hard time speaking. But one thing was clear: they were _angry._

Her breath caught in her throat as she managed to understand a few of their cries.

_“Liars!”_

_“Cowards!”_

_“Death to Rome!”_

“Oh no…” Lucy whispered. She stood there for a moment more, horrified, before charging out in search of Kat. If she’d gone out into this mess, Lucy had find to her, protect her from the mob, get her back to safety. It was all Lucy felt like she could do now.

Protecting her from war would be a different story.

* * *

 

Annabeth abandoned all pretense of calm as everything collapsed around her.

Shouting. Insults. Accusations and slander, threats and dark promises. When it quieted, the distant chants of the mobs outside. Word had gotten out early somehow. Olympus send they didn’t burn the camp down while everyone with authority was at this meeting, trying to hold back the floodgates.

“I swear to you on the River Styx,” Annabeth said her voice equal parts angry and confused. “No one in Camp Half-Blood had _anything_ to do with the theft of the Eagle!”

Several of the Head Counselors at the table shouted over one another in agreement, though a few just threw vile insults at the glowing window in space against the far wall. They were all clustered on the right side of table to get away from Kat, who sat quietly by herself on the left, not saying a word. Annabeth wasn’t sure which Kat had come, but it likely didn’t matter around so many people.

James, the pro-war Praetor of Camp Jupiter, stood on the other side of the Iris message window, accompanied by several senators and centurions. Some of them shouted insults back at the Greeks, and once again the conversation devolved into chaos. It took harsh reprimands from Annabeth to get her campers to settle down. James didn’t bother doing the same for his, scowling at her.

“That proves nothing, Jackson,” he said when they finally quieted, voice colored by hatred. “Only that no one had anything to do with it as far _you_ know. It would be just like your campers to keep you in the dark.”

“If you want the others to swear—”

“Oh, can you get _every_ person in that cesspool you call a camp to swear the same oath? I’m sure they’d be _very_ eager to do that.”

More shouting before Annabeth could reply. “Look, _please,_ just think about it for a moment, the evidence you have is—”

“Our evidence _obviously_ points to you!” James roared, his face going red. “Swear on the Styx that Scott Manhen didn’t have seven beads on his necklace, that he didn’t carry a bronze knife with his initials!”

Chet stood so fast that his chair fell backwards and hit the floor. “Don’t you _dare_ accuse my brother you—”

 _“Enough,_ Chet!” Annabeth yelled over him. He fumed and shut his mouth, but didn’t move to sit back down. She turned back to James. “Scott _did_ have those things, but he’s been missing more than a week—”

“Yes, _missing,_ ” James made aggressive air quotes around the word. “One of your best infiltrators and thieves went _missing,_ just before someone bearing his necklace and knife invaded our camp, destroyed our temple and stole our most treasured artifact! What a fucking coincidence this must all be!”

Annabeth ground her teeth hard. She wanted so bad to see him as unreasonable, but looking at it like that… “Scott would _never_ do such a thing, our Hermes campers hold to a strict honor code—”

“Yes, I’m well aware of that,” James growled. He motioned to someone on his right, who handed him a bronze knife. He held it up close to the window in space so the handle took up the entire view. “One of your codes is not steal weapons, isn’t it? Then why do his initials look to be scratched over another’s? Hermes boy, swear on the Styx that this isn’t Scott Manhen’s knife, and that he didn’t steal it from someone else!”

Annabeth shook her head in frustration. That could mean so many things. Maybe it had belonged to a camper years ago and sat in the armory. Maybe Scott had traded for it. She was about to bring up those points when she noticed that Chet had gone pale, staring at the knife handle.

“That’s…” Chet said, anger gone from his face. “That _is_ Scott’s…”

James pulled the knife back to look at him. “And? Did he steal it?”

Chet shocked Annabeth by looking away, biting his lip, and not responding.

“So,” James said darkly, “clearly he wasn’t as _honorable_ as you thought he was.”

“Scott was _against_ the idea of fighting you,” Annabeth said, “He wouldn’t want to—”

“What _you_ think he’d want doesn’t matter! Is he there to testify for himself? If not, then you can’t possibly know!”

Annabeth paused. Clearly she hadn’t known Scott as well as she’d thought, if he’d broken his cabin’s code and stolen a weapon. _Would_ he want to steal the Eagle? Had he always secretly supported war, or maybe just resigned to it being inevitable? Had he taken it upon himself to strike a decisive blow against the Romans before they could march? He’d done similar things prior to Capture the Flag matches in the past…

She scrambled for a rebuttal, desperation seeping into her voice. “Look, if Scott _did_ do it, I swear to you that our camp does not endorse his—”

“Enough of this!” James shouted, jabbing a finger at Annabeth. “Jupiter’s temple and Eagle are lost to us, because of one of _your_ campers! Whether you endorsed him or not, the price for this _must_ be paid, either by him, or by _you._ ”

Annabeth’s heart sank. “Please…” she whispered, too faint for him to hear.

“This ends one of two ways,” James growled. “Surrender our Eagle and its thief to us immediately, along with funds to rebuild Jupiter’s temple. If you refuse, there _will_ be war.”

The Head Counselors and the senators on each side started shouting again. Chet stared hard at the table, fists clenched. Kat sat still, trying not to be noticed, but looking worried. James said nothing, staring hard at Annabeth, waiting for an answer.

“We can make another arrangement” she said loudly, hushing everyone. One final, desperate shot at diplomacy. “Scott is still missing. If you would accept funds for the temple now, and allow us to search for him, with your aid, and bring him back for his own testimony—”

“We’ve had this debate already, and our reasons stand now more than ever. You think we’ll take bribes to let you have more time to plan your invasion routes?” James crossed his arms. “No. If you can’t compensate us without negotiation, then there’s nothing more to discuss. Time to finally stop dancing around it. Farewell, _Greeks._ Expect a message from us very soon.”

The window rippled and vanished, leaving only the rainbow pattern on the wall from her prism. Again the room burst into loud arguments, but now they bickered about mobilization. Invasion routes. Supply chains. Drafting up a formal declaration of their own.

_Fighting their friends. Killing their friends. Dying by their friends’ hands._

Kids. They were kids.

Kids with the powers of gods, trained with deadly weapons, made old before their time by lives of hardship.

But still kids. Some hadn’t even seen their sixteenth birthday yet.

And still they cried for war. Dreamed of glory they wouldn’t find. Yearned to be heroes without knowing what that meant enduring.

Annabeth tried to get their attention. In all of their minds, it was already said and done. She’d tried for so long. Her voice faltered, the full weight of it hitting her. She couldn’t make them see. They wouldn’t listen to her, wouldn’t—

A familiar sword of gleaming bronze slammed into the center of the table.

 _“Everybody_ **_shut up_ ** _!”_ Percy’s voice bellowed.

The whole room went deathly still. All eyes turned to Percy. He stood with his hand on Riptide’s hilt, breathing hard, glaring at the assembled Counselors. They seemed dumbstruck by his anger, as they’d probably never seen anything like it from him before. Annabeth had only rarely, and it kind of scared even her. In so many ways, Percy was like the ocean. Often calm, majestic, beautiful, but could turn _deadly_ if you tempted its full fury. Percy looked to Annabeth, some of the anger fading into grim weariness.

“Annabeth,” he said hoarsely. “Is there anything more we can do?”

All eyes turned to her. She set her hands on the table and stared at them. She said nothing for several long moments, racking every part of her brain. They’d tried what felt like everything over the last few months. What else _could_ they do?

_War is coming. Prepare them…_

...There _was_ one last option. It would be desperate, likely doomed to fail. And it would require help from the other side, help that would be damning to give them. She almost discarded it entirely.

But there was something profoundly _wrong_ about all of this. Annabeth had long ago learned that sometimes, logic and intelligence had to bow to simple instinct. Maybe it was as it seemed, and Scott had acted of his own accord. But if he _hadn’t…_

 _Seize every chance for survival, no matter how small it may be._ One of the first lessons of being a half-blood.

Annabeth held a hand out, palm facing up. “Drachma.”

Pockets ruffled as people dug out some gold coins with Zeus’ face printed on one side, the Empire State Building on the other. Someone handed one to her, and she tossed it over the table at the rainbow pattern on the wall. The coin vanished.

“Victoria Falken,” Annabeth said loudly, “Camp Jupiter.”

* * *

 

Victoria slammed the backdoor of the Senate building open, Praetor’s toga askew and dark circles under her eyes, as she received the details of the plan. If you could even call it that.

“You know how hard that’s gonna be?” Victoria said to Annabeth, visible with Camp Half Blood’s Head Counselors through the window in space that bobbed along beside her, following her down the hall. “The odds of you succeeding—”

“I know, Victoria,” Annabeth snapped, her normally calm composure nowhere to be seen. “But we’re out of other options here.”

_Gods. She sounds like me now._

“And what do you expect to find? You plan to bring him back and hand him over to us?”

“I don’t know!” Annabeth cried. “Maybe we’ll find it was just him, but something—”

Victoria held up a hand. “I agree with you, Annabeth. Something’s not right about all this.”

Annabeth blinked. “You agree?”

_The screeching. The spear. Those eyes._

_Dangerous._

“Yeah,” Victoria said softly. “I do.”

Annabeth seemed to relax visibly, if only a little. “Will you help us then?”

Victoria stopped outside the doors to the main Assembly Hall. Though they were made of thick wood, she could easily hear the shouting match going on inside. Though James had called for the Assembly to convene hours ago, it had taken time for many of them to break free of the mobs that had formed at Temple Hill and the Principia. She couldn’t tell if they’d started the meeting without her, though it wouldn’t be a surprise if they had.

She turned to the Iris window, fixing her gaze on Annabeth’s. “You realize what you’re asking me to do. I won’t be able to help you anymore if this plan fails. Maybe not even if it works.”

Annabeth nodded grimly. “I know. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t have to.”

Victoria let out a long exhale. Then she nodded back. “Have your child of Iris attune this call to be audio only, and only so you can hear my side. You’ll want to hear how this goes.”

“Thank you, Victoria. Good luck, and Olympus protect you.”

One of the Greek Counselors stepped up to the window and spoke some words in Greek. It shrank down to a mere wisp of rainbow-colored air floating beside her, all sound from it cutting off.

 _Olympus protect us all,_ she thought as she entered the Assembly Hall.

What looked to be nearly every Senator was on their feet in the tiered seats, shouting over each other across the room. Many turned their attention to her as she crossed the floor, shouting obscenities and even throwing some things at her. It was difficult to pick out anything being said, as it was a mixture of English and Latin.

Frank and Hazel Zhang stood in the alumni box, trying in vain to calm the crowd. The Greek ambassador, Rose, was nowhere to be seen. Victoria prayed she’d left the camp entirely, for her sake.

James, surprisingly, had only arrived just before her with a few of his closer associates in the Senate, taking their seats just as Victoria started up the steps. They locked eyes, both wearing hard frowns but neither attempting to say anything over the din.

How would he respond to what she planned to do? Would he expect it, be pleased by it, hate her for it? She normally wouldn’t care. But if he reacted the wrong way… Would he go that far?

Will was already waiting for her in the Praetor box. He scrambled down to meet her, saying something she couldn’t hear. She didn’t try to reply. Instead, she led him back up to her seat, continuing to stand, and held out her hand. It took him a couple moments to pass her an obsidian horn.

Its deafening _roar_ forced hands to ears throughout the hall. _“Order!”_ she shouted at them when they uncovered their ears. “We have a serious situation on our hands, but that does _not_ mean we should fight like children!”

Someone called her a vile name in Latin and told her to shut up. Many others shouted in agreement until James stood.

“She is right,” he called, his voice serious. “We need to stay composed.”

Though many of the senators grumbled, they didn’t argue further. Victoria shook her head softly. How did he do it? How did someone like _him_ command such respect even from a mob of angry children?

“Our situation needs no explanation,” he continued. “You have all seen it with your own eyes. The culprit left behind evidence that points to the Greeks. I have confronted them about this, and they have refused to surrender the culprit or the Eagle back to us.”

Victoria could almost hear the shouting on the other side of that little wisp of rainbow-colored light still hovering next to her. She turned to James and started speaking before her room could start back up too.

“The suspect in question,” she said, projecting her voice as loud and firm as she could make it, “was reported missing by them over a week ago. They repeatedly requested permission to search for him. Do you have evidence that the Greeks were aware of his intentions, if it really was him?”

“They were building deniability!” Violet shouted from the left side of the hall, more red-faced than usual. “It’s such an obvious trick!”

“I demanded answers from Annabeth Jackson,” James, said, looking to Victoria but speaking for all to hear. “This is what I gleaned from that conversation.”

He summarized his call with the Greek Head Council, the answers he’d demanded about Scott Manhen, and the responses he’d gotten. Victoria’s heart sank. She’d been praying that it wouldn’t be credible for Scott to have been the culprit, but he fit the evidence well. The Hermes Counselor and Annabeth’s inability to deny that he may have done it on his own initiative was particularly damning.

“There is no doubt,” James said, spreading his hands to the Assembly, “that Scott Manhen is the one responsible for destroying our temple and stealing our Eagle!” That was met by vicious insults and calls for Scott’s death that shocked Victoria.

“No,” she proclaimed. “There _is_ still doubt.”

James scowled at her. “Oh? You know something we don’t?”

She glared at him. “I spoke to you already of my confrontation with the culprit in the Principia. He _caught_ a spear I threw at him, and threw it back at me. Do you think your average Hermes thief could do that?”

“Why don’t you tell us? Aren’t you the one constantly trying to prove you can do things outside of your mother’s mold? Perhaps he’s simply better at it than you are.”

Victoria’s hands clenched as she resisted the urge to throttle him. Personal attacks, _now_ of all times? That oily sack of...

By some herculean force, she managed to contain herself. “Something is _not right_ here, James,” she growled, though only he could hear her. “We shouldn’t do _anything_ until we’ve had time to—”

“That may as well be your motto, Victoria,” James said loud enough for everyone to hear. _“‘We shouldn’t do anything.’_ It was bad enough before, but now, after _this?_ The _Draconicida_ really has lost her bite _._ No. We’re _done_ doing nothing. It’s time to act.”

He turned to the crowd, which was hanging on his every word. “Romans, we have made our demands of the Greeks and offered them a way out. They either cannot or will not acquiesce. Someone must pay for this crime.”

Victoria felt sweat trickling down her neck. She’d been dreading this moment for months.

“I call for a vote!” he shouted, raising his fist and his voice. “To declare formal war on Camp Half-Blood for the sins committed in their name!”

The room cheered. Will looked up at Victoria with defeat in his eyes. Over in the alumni box, Frank Zhang watched them silently, his expression unreadable. Next to him, Hazel sat with her face in her hands, looking toward the floor.

Victoria had known she wouldn’t be able to talk them out of it. She’d had to try anyway. Now, there was only one more thing to do.

The voting began. It didn’t take as long as usual. Normally people had to think and deliberate with their neighbors, but many minds were already made up. Each senator pressed either a green or red button next to their seat, and their vote was tallied on the board that hung on the far wall, where the half-circle of seats was facing. In under two minutes, all one hundred senators had voted.

The room was deathly silent for what seemed like an eternity. Victoria stared at the number, feeling numb.

_Ninety-seven._

Only two thirds majority was required for a war vote to pass. In previous votes, her allies had numbered around forty, just enough to keep James from having the sixty-seven he needed. Now all but _three_ had abandoned her.

She’d known before coming in that it would be bad. Actually seeing the number was something else.

 _It doesn’t change anything,_ she thought grimly. _Just a slightly higher cliff for me to jump off._

James stood again and huffed, though he didn’t seem as satisfied as Victoria thought he would be. “The motion passes. From this moment until the debt is paid, we are now at war with Camp—”

Victoria stood suddenly, cutting him off by slamming a brass eagle to the desk in front of her. “I veto this motion.”

The hall was silent for a brief moment, then exploded into a cacophony of expletives. She had to duck under a shoe someone threw at her head. Will stared at her with his mouth hanging open, stunned. Violet stood with fists clenched, face the shade of a brick, and shouted above the din.

“Coward!”

“Traitor!”

“Bitch!”

James waved them down, though unlike before, couldn’t calm them entirely.

“Victoria,” he said in the most condescending tone she’d ever heard him use, “I appreciate your… _persistence,_ but you’ve lost. A veto only requires three-quarters majority to be overturned, and we have well above that. You have no right to—”

“I have every right!” Victoria shouted at him, finally letting the storm lose. He actually took a step back from her in surprise. “A Praetor’s veto requires three-quarters to be overturned _one week after the initial vote!_ Am I wrong?”

James blinked at her. “Th-This isn’t—”

_“Am I wrong?”_

He stared at her for a few seconds, seeming surprised and a little bit fearful. She only then realized that the whole room had gone silent again. Olympus above. Maybe she would be more effective if she stopped playing nice more often.

Finally, James looked over to the alumni box. Frank Zhang stood, nodding to Victoria. “She’s correct. A veto can only be overturned after one week, regardless of the initial majority, to allow further consideration and discussion of the issue. This has been a rule of the Senate since long before I came here.”

James’ scowl returned. He grit his teeth and looked back at her. Their eyes locked, both daring the other to budge first.

 _What will you do, James?_ she thought, trying not to show how worried she actually was. _Will you follow the laws of those before us? Or will you become a Caesar?_

He had enough support that if he wanted to ignore her veto, he probably could. How much trust would the people lose in him after that though? Was he willing to take that gamble?

He let out a long, hissing breath between his teeth.

“Fine,” he said. “We’ll wait a week, if that’s what it takes. That gives us more time to prepare.” People throughout the hall nodded, though many still glared hatefully at Victoria, even some of her former allies and friends.

James turned back to the crowd, spreading his hands again. “Even if it can’t be official yet, there are tasks that need doing. Centurions, report to me after the Assembly to begin formation of logistical and strategic councils. Senators, contact our allies and call all the banners they’re willing to send us. Smiths… make us as much as you can. We’ll need all of it.”

Victoria continued standing, glaring at him, as he delegated the tasks. Afterwards, the Assembly dissolved without being formally adjourned, everyone running off to get started on the mobilization of the Legion. So eager to march their friends off to die.

“V-Victoria,” Will said next to her, voice shaking. “What you just did…”

“I know, Will,” she said softly.

“But… _why?_ We can’t do anything more, especially not after _that..._ ”

Dear Will. He’d always had a better mind for politics than her. He’d be much better suited for this job than she. He would see all the little things politicians used against one another and wield them expertly. He wouldn’t do or say things in anger that came back to bite him, like trying to intimidate someone in the bath. But he could at least give her some credit. Even she couldn’t miss the outcome of an action this big.

What she’d done was political suicide. Praetors were meant to speak for the camp. In vetoing a measure passed near-unanimously, she announced to the camp that she spoke for no one but herself. That would firmly alienate her from almost everyone in camp. Even for a Praetor, achieving anything substantial was impossible without support. It was almost certain that the war vote would pass in a week, swiftly followed by her removal from office. Even if by some miracle the Greek plan worked, she’d likely lose her seat regardless.

That thought really shouldn’t have been as appealing as it was.

“Go find the three senators that voted no,” she told Will, looking over at James, who still stood in the Praetor box watching her. “Tell them I want to meet with them. We’ll need whatever help we can get with the investigation.”

“Victoria…”

“Please, Will,” she said softly. “This is important.”

He gave her a strange look, then nodded and ran off. Though she’d much rather follow him — or be literally anywhere else — she walked over to James’ side of the box. He scowled.

“I swear, it’s almost impressive how bad at this you are. You realize what you just did?”

“James,” she said urgently, trying to keep her hatred of him out of her voice. “Something is _off_ about all of this. Just _consider it_ for one moment, please. What if the Greeks have been framed?”

She half expected him to insult her or shrug it off. Instead he surprised her by actually seeming to consider it. He crossed his arms and eyed her. “You’re not just saying that to stall things. You actually believe it.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “You can tell?”

“You’re pretty terrible at lying. And it’s not your style. In any other job I’d call that a good thing.” He pursed his lips. “It’s _possible._ I give you that much. But it’s a stretch. I don’t believe it. Not after talking to the Greeks about Scott. They admitted he could have done it.”

“But we don’t _know_ for certain. We can’t just do something as serious as declaring war without considering all of the evidence first! Let me conduct an investigation before we go marching across the continent!”

James regarded her silently for a few moments. Then he gave a short sigh and lowered his voice. “I already gave you the investigation. Do it.”

She started. “Wait… really? So if I find evidence, we won’t march on the Greeks?”

He snorted. “Oh, we’re marching on _somebody._ It just needs to be the right people. If you can find me _undeniable_ proof that the Greeks weren’t behind this, I’ll get the Senate to call off the war vote on Camp Half-Blood. I swear it on the River Styx.”

Victoria exhaled. A hint of hope, at least. “I’ll need people, and time—”

“You have a week.”

She gaped at him. “A _week?_ But that’s not—”

“You heard Frank,” James said, turning away from her. “And you heard me. We’re done waiting for justice, Victoria. One week.”

Without another word, he strode down the steps and out of the Assembly Hall, leaving her alone.

She sighed, turning to the little wisp of rainbow-colored air that still hovered near her, barely visible. “That’s it then,” she said softly to it. “Whatever your people can do… do it fast.”

One week. It was an eyeblink. A fleeting breeze. Barely enough time to write up a Senate proposal, much less to uncover a potential conspiracy and stop a war between two angry military camps.

It was now all they had.


End file.
